


Everything and Nothing (Bucky x Reader)

by spiritdragon6



Category: Captain America (Movies), MCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brainwashing, Bucky barnes x reader - Freeform, Bucky is a BAMF, Bucky trains you, Bucky x Reader, Cryostasis, DNI, Direct Neural Interface, F/M, How cool is that, Idk I haven't written it yet, James barnes x reader, Marvel 616 - Freeform, Marvel 616 characters, Marvel 616/MCU Crossover, Maybe you become one too, Memory Wipe, Red Room, You can't remember a thing, You fight the avengers, You have to get out, also torture (uh... yay?), black widow candidates, bucky barnes fanfiction, bucky barnes imagine, but how to escape, codename winter soldier, even if it means I torture my characters (sorry characters), i swear I know gazillions of random useless facts thanks to this story, it's great, oooh what's gonna happen to you? Who knows?, project leviathan, project shadow, project winter soldier, science is cool bro, the winter soldier x reader - Freeform, we'll see, who knows - Freeform, why are there so many different types of bucky, winter soldier fanfiction, winter soldier imagine, winter's shadow, you're stuck in HYDRA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:19:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 75,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6725722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritdragon6/pseuds/spiritdragon6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're in a HYDRA facility. You don't know who you are, how you got here, or why you're being trained as a lethal weapon and assassin. But hey, at least The Winter Soldier is training you... Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is my first rodeo. I hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think!

You sit.

You pace.

You wait.

It feels like an eternity is passing by, but you can’t even remember what you’re missing out on in the world… if there even is one.

You can’t remember how you got here, in this damp and dark room. A cell. You can tell you’re not considered an honoured guest, for there is no bed, no windows are present, no sound can be heard save the slap of your bare feet on the floor, and the only toilet you have is the dingy hole in the floor in the left corner of the cell. Your nose crinkles in disgust.

All you can remember is waking up. You have a feeling, a strong gut feeling, that you’re missing something. But, for the life of you, you cannot remember what. Your muscles are tired and stiff, your skin chilled and sore. No trace of energy can be found within you, but still you pace if only to do _something_ in a cell with nothing to do.

You sigh, frustrated. An angry frown mars your forehead as you try to remember: _just how did I get here?_ You’re bored out of your very brain, and you could literally tear your hair out. Thinking of your hair, you notice that it is down to your mid-back. You can’t remember if it was cut that length, or if you were here so long that it had grown. It seems to be a dark shade, but you can't tell what colour it is as the cell is so dark.

Tired of pacing, you sit on the floor of the cell, your back against a wall. You curl in on yourself tightly, attempting to preserve the very little heat you currently have. The tip of your nose is cold, you have a killer migraine developing, your feet are freezing, and you can’t feel your fingers. You have no clothes for some reason, so there are no garments to keep you warm. You shiver in a last attempt to heat yourself up a fraction.

It barely works.

You don’t know when you lose your consciousness, but it’s a blessing when you do.

* * *

You wake. Blinking and rubbing your eyes to clear the sleep out of your system, you stifle a small yawn. You’re still in your cell. It feels to you that life is repeating itself. _Is this really what will happen every time I wake up? I’ll be in a cold and dark cell, hungry and shivering?_ It hardly seems like a life to you. You glance around sorrowfully. You’re getting lonely, which only adds to the stress and boredom you are currently feeling.

You sigh, dropping your head so it rests on the wall you’re leaning on. You drift into sleep once more.

* * *

A clang scares you awake. You inhale sharply and on instinct, you try to shuffle backwards. Only…the wall is there and there’s nowhere for you to run. You curse mentally.

However, you relax a fraction when it turns out it was just a door being unlocked. You hadn’t even noticed the concealed door on the wall opposite you. But at least you know now that there is an escape to this cell.

You flinch as searing light burns your eyes. You huff in pain and cover your face. You hear voices, but the light is hurting your eyes so badly that you can barely see a thing. You just about distinguish that the silhouettes of people are moving towards you, muttering in a language that you don’t understand. Fear slams into you like an iron bar as it dawns that they’re asking you something and you have no idea what they’re saying, let alone how to answer.

Your sense of sight is adjusting, and you notice the figures are all wearing dark clothes and masks covering the bottom half of their faces as if they’re trying not to contaminate you. You feel a sudden vulnerability at your nakedness and curl into yourself more.

A hand grabs your left forearm and you startle. Swinging your right arm, you hit the person on the crown of their head and they yelp in surprise and shock. Bracing your shoulders against the wall, you kick both your legs out, knocking one person over. You elbow the person to your right in their shin before they can react and you leap to your feet.

You’re panting and your limbs are tired, but something tells you that you need to run, escape and get out of this place. You leap forward to run, just as someone tackles you from behind. Your right cheek slams onto the stone floor and pain radiates throughout your skull. Your sight goes fuzzy as you sob in sudden pain. Your ears are ringing and you panic as someone steps onto the small of you back, keeping you in place.

You thrash in desperation on the floor, flailing in horror as more and more people rush in and restrain you. You hear people muttering around you, but you’re so disorientated from your head wound that you no longer know what is going on. You’re scared.

You jerk your legs around as your arms are restrained and held above your head. Suddenly, they’re thrust at an angle that twists your right arm to breaking point. You gasp in pain and take the hint. You cease thrashing.

Taking advantage of your lack of movement, the attackers swiftly place an opaque sack over your head. You squirm in protest but as your arm is tugged painfully you stop.

You’re yanked into a standing position and your knees buckle. You feel immediately like vomiting, but you swallow it down painfully. _Concussion,_ you think.

You’re dragged away from your cell, and you almost wished that you’d never left in the first place. The air is cold against your skin and you resent the fact that you have no clothes to shield you. You manage to suppress a shiver.

You can hear a male voice which belonged to the hand on your left arm, and a response from a female to your right. You’re aware that there are others behind you, but you have no idea how many. Their footsteps are silent, and that unnerves you immensely. However, the slap of your feet against the floor reverberates loudly on the cold floor as you walk.

You swallow thickly. You attempt to keep a rational mind but your concussion makes your head pound painfully. You decide to clear your mind and just go where you are taken to. After all, there is no way out that you’re aware of, so why struggle? You mentally agree with your actions, as there is a possibility that your obedience will gain your captor's favour.

Or at least you hope so.

You’re pulled to a halt as you hear a door opening in front of you. Voices mutter around you and you’re pulled into the room.

It’s cold. _Now there’s a surprise._

The hands are removed from your arms and the sack is yanked off of your head. You’re standing in a plain white room with the light glaring in your eyes. Various things are dotted around, but you pay then no mind. A tall man with glasses is stood before you, watching. You hear the door shutting behind you. Looking around, you notice that there are six guards dotted around the room.

You have no idea what is going on, but you have a vague feeling that you’re about to find out.

He stares at you for a while, only to then bark a command at one of the guards. They move to the side of a room and rummage about. They hand the bag to the man, who then rummages through and brings out a fistful of fabric. He throws them at you and they hit you and fall to your feet. You pick them up to discover they’re clothes. You look at him somewhat gratefully and rush to put the clothes on.

Feeling more at ease when clothed, you cross your arms in from of yourself defensively and stare the man down with a glare as hard as you can muster. The unsaid question hangs heavy in the air. _Why am I here?_

You watch as he pushes his glasses up to his nose and speaks in a language you don’t understand. You hazard a guess and assume it’s German. Your nose twitches in annoyance. _I can’t understand what you’re saying!_ He looks at you and his eyes narrow. You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow in response.

You open your mouth to respond but only exhale, somewhat frustrated. You’re unsure how to respond, but he solves this problem for you.

“Do you understand English?” You look up in surprise and nod jerkily. “Very well then.” He says in a clipped business tone. “I suppose you want to know where you are.” You notice it’s a statement, not a question, but you nod anyway. He continues.

“You’re here for intelligence purposes. You have a skill set that we would have use of, and you will be a valuable asset for our research. You volunteered to be used for some experiments that will help benefit the future of mankind. The knowledge that you will help provide will change the very shape of the earth itself.”

You stand, somewhat stunned with disbelief. You feel the weight of what this man is telling you, however, you’re not sure if you can believe him as you definitely don’t trust him. After all, why would you have been brought here after being assaulted, with a sack over your head? The man made it sound as if you would be helping them achieve something grand and positive, but it certainly didn’t _feel_ as if anything good was going to happen. You feel sick to your stomach, but you reveal nothing on how you feel.

You narrow your eyes at this mysterious man. You wonder what the catch is exactly. You don’t recall ever agreeing to this, in fact, you don’t remember a thing before waking up in that cell. You don’t get to respond, for the man with glasses nods to a guard. Before you can consider reacting, a needle is pushed into your neck. Alarmed, you swing and try to hit them before they can do anything else to you. They spring back, expecting your reaction. Your face twists into a snarl, but you can barely do anything before your vision starts to go dark at the corners of your eyes. The last thing you’re aware of before you drift to unconsciousness is the sound of your breaths and the world tilting beneath your feet.

* * *

Before you’re even coherently conscious, you’re aware of an intense pain in your throat, upper chest, and head.

_Ow._

You sigh in fatigue, but crack your eyes open. The light hurts, but you blink rapidly in the hope that your eyes will adjust fast. You can roughly make out that you’re on some sort of table and you’re laying down on the hard surface. You notice people around you in lab coats with their back turned to you. Quietly you start to move. But something doesn’t feel right.

Something is _horribly wrong_. You glance down and freeze in shock. The top of your chest is _cut open_. You can _see_ your bones. You want to swallow. You _can’t_. Your breathing feels wrong, you have a mask over your face. You hear someone yelling to your left and suddenly the people around you have noticed you’re awake. Your eyes are wide in panic. You don’t know what’s going on. You feel dizzy, you feel like your head is going to explode.

People rush about and push you back down against the table as you panic. You barely notice you’re injected in your neck. You pass out.

* * *

You wake up, screaming silently. You feel a terrible pain in your throat and chest. Your scream comes out as a harsh exhale. You can’t make a noise. You try in desperation, but you just can’t. You thrash on the table you’re strapped to. The binds cut into your arms and legs as you struggle, but you hardly notice. You’re panting so fast that you feel sick. You note that you’re still in the surgery room. A tear trickles down your face.

You’re in _so much pain_ and you’re disorientated, confused and lost. You’re saved by a voice cutting through your dark moment.

“I see you are awake,” It’s him, the man with the glasses. _He started this, he did this_ , you tell yourself. But through your thoughts, you’re glad someone is here that you can understand.

“It would seem that our surgical anaesthesia wasn’t so potent on you. You woke during the surgery.” _Yes, I remember thanks._ “You may not _recall,”_ He speaks as if having a private joke, “But you had a problem with your voice. We tried to fix your vocal cords, but were unable to.” You test the strength of the binds on your arms. He is quick to notice. “I wouldn’t move, if I were you. The doctors had to crack your collarbone and open up the top of your rib cage to efficiently access your larynx. You might feel some pain.” You look up and see a sadistic and twisted smile on his face. “You’ll survive.” _I’m not sure if I want to at this point,_ you think in horror.

“There will be a few more surgical procedures, and then we will be ready to start.” _Start? Start what?! I’m ready to finish here and get the hell out!_ You manage to keep your face carefully blank, but you can’t prevent an unhappy twitch. “Now, if you have no objections, we’ll continue with the surgery. I think you’ve had enough of a rest today.” _I can’t talk, so how the hell do I object, idiot!_ He notes your displeased frown, his eyes crinkled in amusement.

You watch him gesture for a doctor to come over. You watch, eyes wide with wary fear. The needle comes towards you, and then there’s darkness.

* * *

The next time you awaken, you feel sluggish and paralysed. You don’t bother to open your eyes this time. You’re on the line between unconsciousness and peaceful consciousness. You remain like that for a while, but gradually you start to awaken more and more. Slowly, you’re pulled out of your tranquil state.

You feel dull throbbing pain in three places: your chest, your throat, and the base of your skull. You inhale deeply, which hurts. You go to groan, but you… you can’t. Your head rolls to the right, a tight frown on your forehead creases between your brows. You don’t understand. Then you remember.

You gasp as memories flood in, flashing through your brain at lightning speeds. Your eyes spring open, and, in a panic, you take in your surroundings. You’re back in your cell, bound to the floor. You go to scream in frustration, but can’t. It hurts, but you continue to try in anguish. Your throat is hoarse and it feels burnt. Tears sting your desert dry eyes as you cry in pain and desperation. The same question resounds throughout your head, _why me? Please, why me?_

You cry and cry on the floor, tears travelling down your cheeks. You want to die, but you’re aware that’s not an option. _You’ll survive._ His voice is in your head, reminding you that this agony is long term. To distract yourself, you count in your head, breathing in time. As you drift off to sleep once more, you think, _hey, at least I still have clothes._

* * *

You yawn yourself awake. Pain lances up your throat. You frown as you think why it hurts. You remember.

You wish you didn’t.

You sigh out of your nose and look to the side. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you notice a tray of food and a cup of water to your left. You didn’t even wake up when the door was opened. As you shift, you notice you’re no longer bound to the floor. You sit up, only to freeze up in sudden pain. Your chest is throbbing with pain. You count and breathe in time. _Relax,_ you tell yourself, _just relax_.

As the pain dissipates, you carefully shuffle over to the tray. Nothing on it looks exciting, but you’re grateful regardless. Ignoring how the thought of food makes your head spin, you give into your intense feeling of hunger and use your hands to eat. There’s mashed potatoes and finely chopped carrots, as well as a small pile of peas. There’s also a small amount of meat. You feel a tiny feeling of happiness, and you relish in it and let it last. You don’t know when you’ll get your next meal.

You practically inhale your food in hunger and are disappointed when your tray is empty. However, you feel satisfied now that you’ve at least eaten something. You lift the plastic cup to your mouth and sip. As soon as it hits your dry throat, you cough and immense pain crawls up through your chest and into your throat. You suppress more coughs with an uncomfortable struggle. Eventually, you manage to finish your water. You sigh and crawl back to your previous spot, careful to avoid hurting yourself too much, and lay down. You stare at the ceiling, your head feeling clearer now, as you think.

You want answers that you have no idea how to get. If you could talk, you’d be more likely to at least get told something. There are five questions you desperately want answers to.

_Who am I?_

_Why am I really here?_

_Where am I?_

_What do they want with me? I know they mentioned a “skill set” I had at one point. What skill set?_

_When is it? I honestly don’t know what month, day, year or time it is._

You repeat the questions over and over in your head so that you don’t forget them. You gently rock your head on the cool floor as you think. The cold does wonders to soothe the intense discomfort at the base of your head. It’s only then that you notice.

 _Where’s my hair?!_ You go to sit up in shock but convulse in agony as you reawaken painful wounds. You gasp shallowly, praying the pain will go away soon. Then, ever so slowly, you lift a hand and feel your head. Short, prickly bristles greet your hand. Your head is shaved. This fact really upsets you. It’s not like you ever had an identity, but you feel that whatever it was, it’s lost now. The cold of the floor now feels unwelcome and biting, but there’s nowhere else for you to go.

It's then that something inside you breaks into a million pieces as you lay there.

You feel empty.

* * *

A jangle wakes you up. It’s the door being unlocked. Carefully, you get up. You haven’t had any painkillers, and you’re starting to believe that the amount of torture you’re feeling is going to be the death of you. You just hope it happens quickly. You’re fed up of being here. Once you’re stood, you rub your eyes carefully. You look up and notice the tray and cup are gone. Before you can think too much about that, you see the door finally open out of the corners of your vision. There’s a group of people stood at the entrance. A man barks a command at you, in what you assume is German. You could be wrong, but you don’t care anyway. It’s not like you understand it. You take a wild guess and assume he’s asking you to come over. So you comply. When you get there, you’re grabbed roughly and dragged through some eerie corridors. _Well, at least I can see_. You can’t seem to think up any other positives in this situation. You’re practically hauled through a door and pushed forward. You barely manage to remain standing. Your chest is dancing with pain, but you hide any trace of it on your face. The man is back.

“We’re here to heal you without unnecessary pain.” You perk up a fraction at that. “When you wake up, you will feel somewhat _stiff_ ,” he says this as if it causes him some joy. You feel repulsed. “However, you shouldn’t be in as much pain afterwards.” He shouts a command, and hands are on you again, pushing you towards a machine you didn’t notice before. Then, suddenly it’s open, and you’re being pushed _into_ it. You hyperventilate in distress, your inability to talk makes you unable to voice your distress. Your chest hurts, but you try to fight the people off as they turn you and push you into it. Biting cold hurts your feet. You’re pushed in and the case is sealed shut. There’s a tiny window in the machine, and you can just about see out of it.

It starts at your feet. Painful cold. Overwhelming, bitter, bitter cold encases your body entirely. You gasp helplessly, and you watch your reflection in the window as you freeze.


	2. Chapter 2

You’re lying down. Your muscles and joints feel ever so cold and unusually stiff. You give a breathy exhale as you gradually awaken. You open your eyes and everything is _so_ blurry. Your lungs feel heavy when you breathe and you’re ever so fatigued, but you pull yourself into a sitting position. Your memory is hazy, and you can barely think straight. You feel unusual, but you can’t really place what’s wrong.

You go to groan, but it comes out like a huff, which surprises you slightly. You rub your eyes. They feel cold and strangely dry. In fact, you notice as you rub your arms to warm yourself up more, that most of your skin feels dry, cold and rough, like it’s cracked. You shudder involuntarily. Taking time to look around, you see that you’re in a different cell now. There are three grey stone walls, but the fourth wall is a series of bars. _A holding cell_ , you think. You don’t understand, but you decide not to think about it for now, as your head is still fuzzy.

You shift so you’re sat on the edge of... some kind of bed. The mattress is tough, old and mankey. It smells strange and weird. It’s better than the floor, though. _To be honest, I probably don’t smell much better._ You can’t remember when you showered or bathed last. You rub your head and notice you’re bald. It shocks you for a moment, then you recall previously realising that you had your head shaved. It feels like it was only hours ago. You don’t know how much time has passed since then.

You strain yourself to think as to why you were shaved. It only takes a moment, but you wish you hadn’t bothered to try and remember.

The memories are horrible.

Being stabbed with needles, fear in your eyes, waking during surgery, being contained in a cell, immense pain in your chest, neck, and head, and being told… something. _What was it?_ There was a man with glasses. He spoke… German? You shake your head, attempting to clear the fogginess inside your brain. You feel sort of like you have a brain freeze. It’s the only way you can seem to describe the piercing ache you’re feeling. _There was a man with glasses. He told me… he said something about taking away pain or something._ It frustrates you that you can’t seem to remember clearly, but eventually you recall him saying that you’d feel a little stiff when you woke up. Stiff can’t even begin to describe how rigid you’re feeling.

You rub your sternum absent-mindedly. The man was right. You don’t feel any pain at all. It’s like a miracle. You frown as you seem to recall not being able to speak. You try.

You’re heartbroken to rediscover that you can’t talk. Your voice sounds like a hoarse exhale, not at all like you’re trying to talk. You remember now, that you don’t have a way to communicate with anyone without something to write with. You don’t know any sign language, or at least, if you did, you don’t remember it.

 _Wow, my life is now one big mess_.

You sigh tiredly and rub your face. You stand, a little wobbly at first, but then you regain your balance. Your muscles feel fatigued like you’ve done strenuous exercise and you can’t walk. You balance using the bed and shuffle over to the wall. You pace in your holding cell, using the wall to balance you. You want to get rid of this stiffness and cold you’re feeling, and besides, you feel like you need to move about.

After pacing for what feels like hours, your feet feel sore and cold against the floor, but the rest of you has warmed up a fraction. You feel less like a frozen person now, and more like a person. You clamber back onto the bed and rub the feeling back into your feet. From all of your pacing, you worked up a hunger, and you begin to realise that your throat feels parched. You slide off of the bed and plod over to the bars. Placing your hands on them, you poke your nose between the gaps in an attempt to see better. There’s not much to be excited about. You’re in a long corridor that’s different shades of white and grey, and you can see a few other holding cells that are empty. You can’t see any others with people in them. You feel a little bit disappointed.

You notice a guard is pacing up and down the corridor, probably on patrol making sure everything is in order. Your stomach grumbles. You look at the guard wistfully and wonder when you’ll get your next meal. If feels like years since your last one in your previous cell.

You turn back and lean against the bars. You take in your holding cell properly now. At the very end of the bars to the far left, there’s some kind of cell door with a small opening. Your guess is that when guards come, they place any food trays there. There’s a lock there too. You wish you had the key.

To the right is your bed and mattress. The only other vaguely interesting thing is the hole in the far left corner of the cell. It doesn’t take a lot of guessing to know what that is. A manky hole for going to the toilet. You grimace, but you begrudgingly accept that your cell is a fraction better than what you previously had. At least, this time, you have a bed, a source of light just outside your cell so you can see properly, and now you can also observe what’s going on outside your cell. Not that anything of interest is happening anyway.

You climb back over to your bed and curl up into a foetal position, facing the cell bars. You hug your knees. It doesn’t seem like you’ll be getting out of the cell anytime soon. You take the opportunity to rest.

Sleep is better than consciousness, after all.

* * *

There’s a loud rattle that scares the life out of you. You bolt upright into a sitting position, eyes wide and afraid. It feels like your heart is beating at a million miles per hour.

You look around as someone yells at you. It’s then you realise that a guard has brought food and he’s rattling the bars to get you up.

You stand, rubbing your eyes and taking the tray and cup of water. The guard is still stood there and watching, but you pay them no mind. After a minute you realise you’ve eaten half of your food. You take a breath and remind yourself to savour the food. You lift the plastic cup which crinkles when you put it to your lips. The water feels like heaven when it smoothly glides down your throat.

The guard shouts something at you. You don’t know what he’s saying, but you finish the rest of your food rather quickly and place the tray back by the door. The guard growls something at you and spits in your direction. You jump out of the way, narrowly missing the small lump of spit. You watch it hit the floor and look up in confusion. _What did I do to deserve that?!_ But the guard has already left.

You look down in disgust at the spit.

It’s clear; you’re not very liked here.

* * *

“Oi.” You open your eyes and squint, confused. You sit up and see a guard just outside the bars. He has a massive grin on his face. You look at him, completely puzzled. He gazes at you and you stare back impassively. “I’m here to take you to your training.” _Uh, what training?_ As if hearing your thoughts, he says, “Yeah, can’t have you out in the big bad world unable to complete a mission or defend yourself, love.” You stand up and lift your nose, as if you’re looking down on him, even though he’s taller.

He’s clean shaven with dark hair about an inch long. You take in his pale, narrow face, big brown eyes, and you notice his torso is fairly broad. His grin widens when you stand straighter and he waves you over to the cell door. “Just place your hands through the gap, love,” He waves some handcuffs in the air. “Can’t let you run away now, can we?” You do as your told.

The metal of the handcuffs is cold against your skin. They make you feel uncomfortable and you have to suppress a shudder. Once the click sounds, signifying that they’re locked, you pull your hands back and he opens the door. He reaches forward and attaches a chain to your cuffs, so this way you can’t escape and have to follow him. _Why would I run away anyway? Not like there’s anywhere to go._

He glances up at you and looks apologetic. “Sorry, love, it’s protocol.” Your mouth twitches downward in distaste. He leads you out of the corridor after shutting the cell door, and you trail behind him miserably. He chatters away quietly, but animatedly. You barely pay attention. You do notice, though, that he has a British accent. For some reason that makes a tight knot in your chest loosen a fraction.

Your ear catches him say something about your trainer, and that’s when you pay attention. “I’ve never met him personally, but I’ve heard a lot about him. He’s a soldier from the 40s’, ya know? He’s a trained assassin, and he’s HYDRAs best asset. He’ll be teaching you stealth and combat training.” He pauses in his speech and looks over his shoulder at you. “If I were you I’d be more excited about meeting him... Well, that and terrified.” He turns back and continues walking. You turn some corners, some left, some right. The rest of your walk is in silence.

Another guard passes and you’re surprised to see a change in your current handler. He talks fluently and professionally to the other in a foreign language, answering to what you guess is orders. He then stops. “We’re here.” He opens a door and holds it open, gesturing for you to go on through. You go on through and are slightly taken aback by the look of the room.

It’s _massive._ You don’t think you’ve ever seen a room so… large and intriguing looking. It is a shade of spotless dark grey. One full side of the room, on the left side, there is a glass wall and it looks like there are targets at the far end. It looks like a shooting room. Your gaze travels to the middle of the room. Right in the centre there are dull coloured crash mats, and to the right of you there were several bags hanging from the ceiling. One entire wall is covered in a glassy mirror too.

If you are honest with yourself, you are shocked and amazed. You turn and look back at the guard who has shut the door. He sees your shocked expression and laughs lightly. His smile is bright and genuine, and the corners of your mouth twitch up in response. He walks forward and unlocks the chains on your handcuffs. Then he reaches forward and takes your right hand and shakes it. “My name is Adam.” You decide then that you like this guy. You smile at him slightly and nod.

He steps back and grins. But his grin falters when the door opens again, and when you glance back at him you see that his face is carefully blank. You look over to see lots of guards walk through the door, and right in the middle of them is a male with shaggy hair. As they step into the room the guards part around him and you look in surprise when you spot that his entire left arm is encased in metal.

 _Huh,_ you think. _That’s certainly unique._ A guard gets in his face and sneers a few commands which you don’t understand, and then he looks over at you with disgust and disdain. “Oi, unlock the girls ’andcuffs, she’s got some training to do.” Adam unlocks your handcuffs and pulls them off of your wrists.

“Good luck,” he mutters quickly under his breath, and then he leaves with the other guards. The door shuts. It’s just you and your trainer now. You look over at him and take him in. He’s wearing a black suit which looks a bit too tight, but he doesn’t appear uncomfortable. Either that or he hides it pretty well. You guess it’s the latter.

He’s quite tall, and he looks like he’s in his mid-twenties. But his eyes… his eyes betray his body. They look worn and dead. You bite your tongue and try to mask your shiver.

Stubble is around his face, and there are dark, dark rings under his eyes, with bruises on the left side of his forehead and cheek. You swallow and straighten your spine and look him dead in the eyes. _He’s here to teach me, I’m not afraid,_ you tell yourself. However, you can’t help but feel intimidated a little.

He lifts his chin and gives a slight nod as if to acknowledge you’re there and speaks to you.

“Вы знаете, как защитить себя?” _(Vee z-nye-tea-eh, kak za-sh-chit-it sib-nyeah?)_ You feel like a weight just dropped in your stomach and some of your distress shows on your face. You wince slightly and tilt your head. _I can’t even tell him I don’t understand. Oh why me?_

“А ты говоришь по русски?” _(Ee vee gav-or-ee-tea pah russ-key?)_ You raise an eyebrow at him. “¿Hablas español?” _(Ab-las espan-yol?)_ _Oh gosh, if I have too, but my Spanish is a little rusty mate._ You shake your head slightly and he notices. “What about English?” Relief bursts in your chest. You nod and let a small smile twitch on your face. _Thank god._

His voice sounds a little hoarse and unused, but it’s smooth and you recognise his accent as American. You have no idea which part of America he’s from. You gaze at him wearily till he continues to speak. “How much do you know on how to defend yourself?”

You suck on the inside of your cheek and look up and right. You guess you know a fair amount of defensive moves, but you’re not really sure… your memory is still impaired after all. Unable to gauge exactly what you know, you think that it’s probably muscle memory and instinct that you use. You cast your mind back to the time when you were first attacked in your cell. _I must know at least something._

You look at the man. You give him a lopsided smile, a shrug and a small nod. You’re not sure how to really communicate with him, so vague gestures will have to do for now. He frowns at you and your lack of verbal response and says, “We’ll do a test run.” Your gut clenches a little in nerves, but you surprise yourself a little by being a bit excited.

He walks to the centre of the room where there are crash mats and you follow. He stands on one end, and you stand on the opposite.

Before your second foot is even down on the mat, he swings his leg to your face. You don’t even think. You react.

You duck under his leg, spring forward so your left shoulder is pressed to his metal left shoulder. Then, at speeds you don’t think to comprehend, you wrap your left arm across his chest and hook it under his right arm. You stick your left leg and place it round the back of his legs, and then you throw yourself forward and flip him over your back. Instead of landing on his back, though, he flips and elegantly lands on his feet. He throws his right arm forward and you catch his fist and twist it back. He quickly presses himself to you and knees you in the gut. You wheeze in sudden pain and have to force yourself not to double up.

You quickly take a step back and crouch. Then you move.

You spring yourself up and slam the crown of your head under his chin. It knocks him slightly off balance and you leap, grabbing hold of both his shoulders. The metal on his left arm is ice cold, but you couldn’t care less and you slam your knee right into the place no man should ever be hit.

You’re absolutely shocked when all he does in response is grunt. You at least expected him to double up in pain! Instead he takes advantage of your pause and jumps _onto you_. Your eyes widen as in a flash he has both legs wrapped around your left arm and he uses his weight to pull you down, grabbing the back of your head and pushing you to the floor. He turns you in a fluid movement so your back slams to the floor and it completely knocks the air out of you. His cold metal shoulder presses into your chest, and then he springs up and suddenly he’s standing up again and is offering you his metal hand to help you up.

 _Such a gentleman,_ you snark bitterly in your head as you try and get air into your lungs after being violently winded. You narrow your eyes suspiciously at the hand he’s offering and half expect it to be another attack. So you prepare yourself. You grin mentally. You grasp his hand with your left and pull sharply down. You know he’s strong enough not to fall over, especially since his arm is metal. Instead, you use his sturdiness against him. You jump, leaning backwards and using his arm as leverage. You kick both of your legs up and hit him directly at his diaphragm. He stumbles back and lets go of your hand with a slightly surprised look on his face. _Oh, maybe he was just offering his hand... My bad._ But you see the corners of his mouth twitch upwards a fraction and realise that he might just be ever so slightly impressed by your bold move.

He nods at you. “Not bad.” He gives you an entire look over from head to foot to head again. “I half expected you to know nothing.” He speaks in a somewhat gruff tone, like he doesn’t talk to others often. _Well, if this Adam guy meant what he said about my trainer being one of the very best of ‘HYDRA’ or whatever that means, then that explains why I managed to kick him; he expected me not to know anything._

You allow yourself to feel a small amount of pride. You honestly thought you knew nothing, but it turns out you know some quite neat moves. You ignore the fact that you’re out of breath and he’s not, but if he’s your trainer, then at least that’s expected.

It’s then that you feel a surge of strong determination to learn and be the best you can be. You’re in this room and you are being trained by one of the best, so you focus on this and let all of your other current worries about your memory loss, your lack of voice, and your location bleed away.

You stand up tall and look up to the man. You wait for instructions.

He watches you for a moment with what could be classed as a thoughtful expression on his face. He then nods to himself. He gestures for you to follow, and you comply. He leads you to the shooting room. He throws a something small and black at you and you catch it gracefully. You turn it over gently in your hand. _A handgun_. You feel slightly sick as he gestures for you to stand in the allocated spot, opposite a target at the far end of the room. It’s a semi-automatic gun, and you get a full body feeling of unease that you’ve used one before.

You store the feeling away to think about later.

You look to your right and see the cartridges to load the magazine with. You can practically _feel_ your trainer’s eyes watching your every movement. You know he’s testing your knowledge and ability to shoot. You push down the feeling that tells you you’re going to let him down. You put the gun on the table.

You reach and pick up a cartridge with your right hand and grasp a gun magazine in your left. You slide the cartridge onto the top of the magazine and swallow as you search your brain to figure out what to do next. _Come on, I can’t fail, I can’t do this wrong, come on._

You repeat the gestures and move to load your gun. You pick up the gun with your right hand and tilt it down and to the left. You get the magazine and push it into the firearm firmly. It clicks. You’re panting slightly in anxiety, and you feel nauseous for some reason you can’t seem to explain, but you attempt to swallow it down and push forward to carry on.

Placing your left hand firmly over the top back end of the semi-automatic, you slide it back and release it. The gun is loaded. _See? That wasn’t so hard._

You look up at the target and stand facing it, your feet parallel and shoulder-width apart. You raise your arms and aim at the centre of the head of the target. Your finger strokes the trigger. Inhaling deeply, you tell yourself, _I can do this, I can do this_. You exhale and fire, shutting your eyes once you’ve heard the bang. You can hear the blood rushing in your head and you feel nauseous. You swallow thickly.

You crack an eye open and look nervously. The bullet just missed the target, a few centimetres to the left of the throat. You feel bitter, clawing disappointment in your gut. You breathe out in a sigh and lower your arms and take another breath. You then lift them to aim again.

You flinch when metal fingers curl over your left shoulder. Another, slightly warmer, hand appears over your abdomen. Your trainer pushes your abdomen in so you stand straighter and pushes your shoulder more forward. You’re confused at what’s happening until a foot kicks your right leg back a bit. _Oh,_ you think, _he’s changing my stance._ He then reaches and gently nudges your arms up more. You feel his breath gently tickling your skin, and then suddenly he moves his metal arm off of your shoulder and his other arm off of your abdomen. He steps back, but not too far.

All he says is, “Inhale, aim, exhale, fire.” You swallow.

 _Inhale_. You aim and narrow your eyes in solid determination. _Exhale._ You pull the trigger and fire. You watch and see the bullet splinter the left breast of the target. _Well, at least I hit the target._ You frown to yourself, displeased. _I could do better_. A hand reaches over and takes the gun off of you. You raise your eyebrows in surprise and you turn to see him place the gun on the table.

“Follow,” he says gruffly. He leads you to a separate area of targets and hands you a knife. He gestures to a target. “Throw.” _Oh dear._

You look at the throwing knife in your hands and gingerly move it around, trying to figure out how to hold it. You know then, that you’ve never done this before. You feel no sense of familiarity and you feel a little lost. You turn the knife over and look at it, stroking the blade. You get a flash in your head of you laughing and chatting with someone, playing a card game. The flash changes and suddenly you’re being taught by the person on how to throw cards. You gasp slightly at the sudden foreign, yet familiar memory, and try to focus on what you’re doing. _Treat it like cards_ , you try to tell yourself.

You can feel the eyes of your trainer burning holes into your back as you shift with nerves. You cautiously place the handle of the knife in between your thumb and middle finger in your preferred writing hand. You place your index finger on the corner of the knife and bend your wrist back. You flick your wrist quickly forward and release the knife, wishing for the best.

The knife spins through the air and you watch with forlorn hope. It smacks into the targets stomach. You feel relief pressing your shoulders back. Only then, the knife gives a quiet creak against the target and falls out, clattering onto the floor loudly. You clench your jaw in disappointment. _It hit the target,_ you tell yourself that’s all that matters. You feel tense. Somewhat hesitantly you turn and look at your trainer. He gazes back at you, but doesn’t say a word. Just jerks his head back as if to say “follow me” and walks off. You trail behind him back to the training room, feeling a tiny bit disheartened. But as you look up at the back of your trainer, you tell yourself that, _no. I can only get better. I’m here to be trained, not humiliated._ So instead of walking with your shoulders hunched, you tilt them back and raise your chin slightly. _I can only get better,_ you repeat to yourself.

* * *

Hours later, you think you're being taken back to your holding cell, but you're not. You're collected by Adam and taken to a strange room. He points to the button. “Shower time,” he says and turns his back to give you some privacy. You’re still handcuffed and you have clothes on. _Uh…_ You take your trousers off easy. However, you get a feeling of horror when you realise you’re going to have to rip your top off to clean yourself.

You have no idea if Adam has a spare top. As if he knew you were thinking about him, he says in a weirdly cheerful tone, “Three minutes,” and you mentally swallow your objections and just rip your top off in one tear. You chuck it to the floor and push the button.

You flinch terribly when freezing water rains down on you and you gasp in complete shock. “Oh, I forgot to warn you, it’s cold,” Adam sounds like he’s smug and not at all sorry he ‘forgot’. You rub your head and your gut clenches when your hands meet your bare head, but you push on.

You rub your hands all over yourself, clearing off your sweat from today’s exertion and any grime you’ve collected. Your nose curls up in disdain as you watch some dried blood from your surgery peel off and run away into a drain in the floor. You rub your calves and feet. You’ve been barefoot all day and your feet feel sore. You finish and tilt your head up and let the cold water rain down over your face, relishing in your cleanliness.

A few seconds later there’s a beep and the water cuts out. You run your hands over yourself, trying to dry yourself the best you can.

You don’t think you’ll be receiving any towels.

You’re about to step into your trousers that you were given, when Adam says, “Incoming,” and throws something over his shoulder. You reach and catch it just before it touches the wet floor. You rub the material. _New clothes._ You could weep with relief.

You gratefully pull on the trousers and frown at the top. Your mouth tugs down when you realise you can’t put it on. You press it to your chest when Adam turns. “Hands,” he says, holding up a chain. You gesture to the top you’re clutching. His eyes soften a fraction and he says, “Yeah, you’ll have to put that on when the cuffs are off.” He waves his arms again. “Hands.” You shake your head. His gaze hardens, and his face loses its kind mask. “Give me your hands.” His steely voice sparks a feeling of fear into you, so you shut your eyes and place the top over your shoulder, exposing your chest. You thrust your hands forward, your handcuffs clinking. You can feel a heat rising up your face and into your neck.

There’s a few clicks and then a tug. You open your eyes and see Adam turn. Sounding smug and cocky he says, “Let’s go.” You bow your head in embarrassment as you walk down the corridors back to your cell. You pass a few people on the way, and you hear one give a chuckle and say something to Adam before he continues on his way. Others just pass on by without giving you any notice. You think about your position, and guess that this doesn’t only happen to you.

You reach your cell. The first chance you get when the door is shut and your cuffs are taken off, you rush to get the top on and huddle on the bed, thinking about your day.

And what an intriguing day it’s been.

You drift off to sleep, feeling somewhat content.


	3. Chapter 3

“Everything happens for a reason,” you say, giggling with your friend as you sit in the sunshine. Your hair flicks about in the breeze, tickling your face. The view of the sea looks beautiful from the cliff you’re sat on. Today is a beautiful day.

“I know!” Your friend whines, “But sometimes I just want to grasp destiny and shake it, you know? Tell it that it doesn’t rule my life and take fate by the reigns.” You laugh as your friend shakes her hands dramatically, her eyes wide, a big grin on her face. She makes the neigh of a horse and pretends she’s grasping it’s reigns and galloping off. You’re grinning so hard your face hurts but you couldn’t care less because you’re so happy.

The scene flashes in a change. But this time, you’re on your knees in a puddle. Rocks are digging into you and you’re bent over in the rain. Pain is radiating through you in waves of torturous agony, but it isn’t physical. It’s emotional torture. Rain pours heavily down your face in fat droplets as you scream until your throat is sore and hoarse. A warm, dry hand rests on your shoulder. You look up, sobs wracking your frame as you see your friend. She’s got an umbrella sheltering her and you. Her eyes are bright and soft. You see her dress becomes soaking at the bottom as it settles upon the wet ground. She looks into your eyes, and they look as pained as you feel. It’s like she understands exactly how you’re feeling.

“But sometimes that’s just not realistic,” she whispers.

Your eyes open and you blink. You feel tense. A feeling in your chest that tells you that you’re missing something but you can’t quite figure out _what._

You strain yourself and reach back into your head. You grasp the last tendrils of your dream and haul it back, flicking through each and every detail of every single thing that happened like you’re searching through a filing cabinet.

With desperation, you try and remember the sound of your voice which is fading, your friend’s face which now appears as blank to you, and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen. You get up and _pace._ Your feet feel blazing hot in comparison to the cold, icy floor but it helps ground you. You rub your face harshly and grind your teeth in anxiety. You go to run a hand through your hair and tug at it, an instinct built into you. But your hand meets the skin of your bare skull and you open your mouth and scream.

No sound comes out but you try and try and try. You drop to your knees and they jar painfully against the floor. Pain is dancing flames up and around your throat and a coppery taste fills up the back of your mouth. You shudder with sobs, your body wracking itself.

You can’t shake the feeling… that feeling that’s so intense in your gut, that pressure in your brain that’s yelling itself stupid that something isn’t quite right, that voice whispering to you to open your eyes and wake up. You spit some blood onto the floor and shudder.

You stare at your hands which are paler than your usual skin tone. You look at them blankly with a lost expression on your face.

And you just can’t shake the feeling that tells you that they were memories, not dreams.

* * *

 

You blink wearily as you wake. You’re confused as to why you’re curled up on the floor instead of the bed, but slowly the recollection of the ( _dreams? Memories?)_ comes back to you. You yawn silently and sit up, trying not to think about the pain in your throat.

You exhale sharply in a flair of pain. _Oh man, my back is killing me._ You shift and use your arms to help yourself get up. _Oh, my arms too_. You wince.

You ache all over. You pull a pained grimace onto your face and stand slowly. _Ah, add my legs to that list too._ You shuffle over to the bed. It takes your a while, but eventually you get there. Carefully, you lay down and cover your eyes with your tired arms to block out the light from the corridor. You sigh dramatically. _Wow, yesterday’s session really sucked my energy out of me._ You cast your mind back to yesterday.

After testing you on everything, your trainer had gone back over your previous dummy run. He went through each move you used against him, and repositioned you, or showed you how you could do better. Then he taught you the moves he used, then some other techniques which you practised on the dummies and punch bags to the right of the room.

 _It was a good day,_ you think. _Out of the days that I’ve had already, that one strikes the highest score._

You left your trainer feeling battered, bruised black and blue, and aching all over. You don’t bother to stop the smile on your face now. You remember you felt good after moving around so much. You’d had a euphoric rush of giddy energy and adrenaline which you don’t recall experiencing in a long, long while. You’re alone, and there’s no need to put a mask up to hide anything, so you keep smiling.

Whilst your ache is dull and painful, you relish in it. The hurt you feel with every shift tells you that you’ve done something and not sat around, that you’ve pushed yourself towards improvement in skills that you never thought you’d had.

You sigh, feeling content for the first time in a long while, and drift off back to sleep.

* * *

 

“Oi.”

By this point, you almost wish you were deaf as well as mute.

The bars rattle as they’re shaken. “Rise and shine beauty queen.” _Five more minutes,_ you mentally groan. Rolling over, you give Adam the strongest death glare that you can be bothered to muster. He just cracks a wide grin back. “Food will be here in twenty or so minutes,” he says casually, “So perk up.” You have no idea why he doesn’t just wait till the food is here to wake you up, but it’s happened now so you remain awake and sulk.

“Wipe that expression off of your pretty face, darlin’. I have some news.” He waggles his eyebrows eagerly. You roll your eyes.

“So, I heard from the fellas that some of HYDRA’s top rankers were watching footage of you fighting the Winter Soldier yesterday.” You frown. You hadn’t stopped to think that there’d be people observing, but it makes sense to you that people would watch, to ensure you’re worth training.

You look up cautiously to see Adam leaning against the bars of your cell, facing you as he talks. He sees you’re looking and grins at you again. “They’re impressed with your ability to stand your ground. Apparently they think with some training that you’ll be one of their top assets.” He looks at you like an eager child. “And I get to be your guard!” He waves his arms around excitedly. “What a privilege that is, right?” He nods, enthused, and you give him an unimpressed, deadpan look, but inside your thoughts are racing. You sit up and lean against the wall with your legs swinging off of the edge of the bed. You frown in thought.

 _Okay, so I kicked my trainer in a little bit, but I barely stood a chance! How can they think that I’d be a good asset just from that? I can barely shoot a gun accurately, and let’s not talk about the knife throwing._ You think a bit more about the codename for your trainer. _The Winter Soldier._

You’d heard the phrase ‘winter soldier’ and ‘summer soldier’ before somewhere. You frown because you can’t remember where, but you shake your head and continue thinking.

People were referred to as ‘summer soldiers’ if they acted like they could do something but quit when the going got tough. So if someone was a _‘winter soldier’_ then it meant they were more hardcore and had high endurance. A person who got a job done no matter what it took. _So my trainer must be pretty tough then._ You conclude.

You look up and see Adam still smiling at you. He seems pleased that he’s your guard, so maybe he’s feeling something similar to you.

You also feel proud. After all, you’re being trained by the very best of the best.

* * *

 

Food comes and is practically inhaled by you, and your water is gulped down so fast you feel a little giddy. Soon after, you’re handcuffed and taken to today’s agenda.

You just assume that you’ll be having another day of combat and defence training and you are looking forward to it. You feel a sinking feeling in your chest when you’re brought to some kind of laboratory instead. The lab it huge, and you look around with interest as Adam and some other guards lead you through. It’s bustling with people, and there are strange equipment and objects on the tables being examined as you pass.

You end up standing next to a table with a lot of equipment on it, which you eye with a vague interest. You’re unchained and your handcuffs are taken off, then you’re pushed into a plain room and a door is shut behind you before you can fully comprehend exactly what’s happening. You look around, very confused, but you see something on a table in the middle of the chamber. You look to the floor and notice that the floor is covered an inch deep in water. You frown but walk through anyway.

You walk over to the table, the water sloshing around your feet and making the bottom of your trousers wet. You see a mess of brightly coloured wires that you can’t seem to really decipher. You don’t know where one ends, and another begins. You look over it all speculatively.

Some of them you pick up and move around during your curious examination, but other than that there isn’t anything for you to do. There’s a chair next to the table, so you walk round to it and sit. You ache pretty badly all over after yesterday, so sitting is a nice rest after walking through the maze of corridors. A voice sounds through the room and almost shocks you out of your chair.

“Greetings madame. If you would look at your table, you will see some wires. Go over to it and untangle them, arrange them into colour groups.” You stand and look down at the tangled mess of wires. It looks like it would take hours to untangle. _Just my luck._

“You have five minutes.” And then there’s silence. Your jaw hangs open slightly in shock. _Five minutes?! What? I can’t do that in five!_ But you start anyway. You tug and pull, and tug and pull. You untangle the first wire, a red one, and place it down on the far side of the table. Each wire, you notice, is about the length of your forearm and is sliced at both ends. The inside of the wires are poking out and are sharp.

You continue to yank and twist the wires, pulling them free of the mess. Your red pile is growing, and it’s soon joined by a yellow, a green, and a blue pile. You have no idea how much longer you have left, but you’re nearly halfway through the pile, You have a rhythm of twist, pull, yank, tug, twist, pull, yank, tug. You’re panting shallowly and your fingers feel raw. Sometimes the ends of the wires scratch and scrape your bare skin and it hurts but you push on.

You’re just past halfway, and thinking about how much your arms are aching, when the voice is back. “Ten seconds.” _What?!_ You panic and rush, yanking at the wires desperately. Three more come lose and you throw them onto the correct colour piles. “Five,” you pull, you twist, “Four,” you throw the wires to the pile, and pick up the next bundle to untangle. “Three,” you’re tugging violently at the wires with a sudden desperation, “Two,” you’re gasping and panicking and you don’t know why.

“One.” You pull and wire through and-

You fall to your knees as you convulse and spasm. You smack the floor and twitch. Your body feels like it’s burning from the inside out and your blood feels like hellfire in your veins. You can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you gasp for breath, every now and then choking on water that you accidently inhale. It only lasts seconds, but it feels like hours before the pain begins to subside.

“The chamber’s water supply is exposed to a live wire.” _Is it me, or does that voice sound smug?_ You manage to coherently think.

“Whenever you fail to correctly do the task, madame, we will expose the wire to the water and you will be electrocuted.” The words echo in the chamber eerily in a matter-of-fact tone, as you cough up more water and climb onto your knees. You sit back onto your heels and use the table as leverage to push back into a standing position. You rib cage clenches painfully in protest. You feel sick in your throat and your skin feels like it’s crawling with spiders.

“You have thirty seconds, madame. Shall we begin?” You nervously reach up to run a hand through your hair and your hand touches your bare skull. You shudder anxiously.

You nod.

“Timer set: thirty seconds. Starting: now.” You rush to untangle the wires. You don’t bother ordering them into colours anymore, the thing that matters right now is untangling them. You’re pulling at the wires with a newfound desperation. “Ten seconds.” You’ve untangled the last red wire and you’re down to half of what you just started with. You pant and panic, ripping the wires free as hard and fast as you can and throwing them to the other side of the table.

“Five seconds.” Your stomach plummets like a stone when you realise you can’t finish the task. _I can’t do this,_ you think desperately. You yank the last blue wire free and throw it before-

Even if you’d had a voice, you don’t think you’d be able to scream. You jerk and your jaw slams onto the table as you crash and hit the ground. Blood fills your mouth, and you’re confident that you’ve bit your tongue rather harshly. You thrash around on the floor, which you don’t even remember hitting. You can barely pull out the strength to breathe from your limited energy reserves, and you lay shuddering and gasping like a fish out of water. Your breaths are stuttering and your lungs feel as if they’re wrapped in flames. Your heart beat feels irregular and you force yourself to swallow thickly.

Your hands shake as you slowly push yourself to stand. You’re overcome with a determination to get up and show the observers that you aren’t weak. _That will be my downfall one day._

Rivets of water drip down your face and arms. Your clothes feel heavy and sodden. As you stand you force down the instinct to hurl.

“Timer set:” the voice says as you gasp to get your breath back. You attempt to glare at the ceiling, but you’re too tired. “Twenty seconds.” It’s even _less_ time now, but you pull yourself together and straighten your spine. You clench your jaw. “Starting: now.” You pull the wires with anxious determination. Your hands are shaking so terribly that you’re half-convinced you're tangling the wires up more, as opposed to freeing them. Your vision is blurry and there are dots dancing everywhere before your eyes as you twist and wrench the wires free. “Ten seconds.” _Focus_. _You can do this, come on._

You finally pull the last wire free and curse mentally as you realise that you still have to sort out the colour piles. You throw the wires about, grasping them and throwing them with a fevered desperation as the voice says, “Five seconds.”

By the time the voice reaches the count of one, you’ve just put the last wire onto the correct pile. You wait with heavy anxiety for a shock of electricity, but nothing happens. Your shivering is uncontrollable and your teeth are chattering loudly. You feel so very sick and lightheaded.

“Well done, madame,” You clench your jaw. “You may sit in the chair and rest for a moment.” You glance fearfully around the room, looking for a camera, or a speaker, but you just can’t find any.

You comply and sit in the cold metal chair. Blood trickles gently out of your mouth and right ear as you sit and wait with bated breath for your next instructions.

* * *

 

Moments later, the door clangs and opens with a creak. A guard wearing protective gear walks in, awkwardly carrying a bunch of things. You watch as they place some equipment onto the table. Before he, she, it, whatever, turns to walk out, they pick up some of the wires and then shuts the door behind them. Then you’re alone again. _Fantastic,_ you think with a bitter tone.

You’re convinced that if you could shiver any harder, your bones would rattle and come apart. You’re ever so scared, and your fright increases when a different voice resounds through the speakers. This person has a completely different accent, and it’s one you recognise because you hear the guards speak like this so often when they talk to Adam. It’s a woman, and she speaks in English, but you barely understand her as her accent is so thick.

“If you please, step over to the table.” A wave of nausea overwhelms you as you stand. You feel your blood pressure plummet and you clench your eyes shut, willing yourself not to collapse and be sick. Biting your lip to stop thinking of the agony lancing through your body, you shuffle to the table and grasp the edges of it, panting from exertion. You lean most of your weight on it, and take a moment before forcing your attention onto the equipment on the table.

There are some white, black and orange wires that have been added to the wire pile, a clock and some sort of… hub? You look slightly puzzled, but it gradually starts to dawn on you that they want you to wire a small bomb.

The lady talks you through what each piece of equipment is for, and you repeat her words over in your head, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the fact your head is swimming. You pick up each piece of equipment as she tells you what it does and examine them to familiarise yourself with each item.

Once she’s told you about all of the functions of each piece of equipment, she tells you how to wire the small explosive. You piece together the bomb as she talks you through it, and then she talks you through disarming it, which you also do.

Once it’s back in pieces on the table she speaks again.

“The timer will be set for four minutes. You will be expected to arm and disarm the explosive within that space of time.” You take a shuddering breath and nod. “The timer is set. Starting now.”

You get to work, attempting to steady your shaking hands as you carefully put each wire in place and connect each piece of the explosive together. You place the clock into place with a click and it flashes to show that it’s connected. A countdown starts on the clock, and you frantically work to disarm the explosive correctly. _“One wrong move,”_ the lady had said, _“And this will explode and kill you. Take caution when handling an explosive. Only touch the correct wires. Pull the wrong one and,”_ she gave a breathy, humoured laugh then. _“It will explode and kill you.”_ So you heed her word and breathe to calm yourself as you work to beat the countdown.

You manage it with twenty-nine seconds remaining on the clock. You look up to the ceiling expectantly. “Good,” her voice sounds. “You can do better.” _Well, I’m sure with the help of all you lovely people, that I will do just fine,_ you think sarcastically. “But it wasn’t atrocious for a first time.” _Oh, the constant_ _praising_. You nod and wince as your the world tilts around you. _Oh, I think I need to lay down for a moment._

With a clatter and a bang, the door opens, and Adam’s there with your chains and handcuffs. “You did good, kid,” he mutters under his breath and then hauls you out of the chamber. You’re accompanied by a few female and male guards and they chatter together using words you can’t decipher. You can barely make sense of anything currently. There’s black in your vision, which isn’t right, and you keep tripping over your own feet. Breathing feels hard and laboured and your limbs feel unnaturally heavy as you’re walking and dragged to your cell.

You hardly process that the sound of a door opening is your cell, and then it’s shut and you’re ordered to place your hands by the bars in order for them to remove your handcuffs. Everything is a blur and you don’t know what the guard just said. _I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out, and I think I just thought that twice-_

And then you fall to the floor and black out.


	4. Chapter 4

As you slowly become aware of your surroundings, the first thing you notice is that your lungs hurt as you breathe. It’s brought to your attention slowly that your arms don’t feel quite right, and your legs are shaking. Your right shoulder feels like it’s been smacked with a brick, and your right cheek feels badly bruised.

If you could groan, you definitely would.

Instead, you exhale slowly and uncomfortably. You swallow, and your eyes screw more tightly shut as a wave of nausea washes over you. Something hard is digging into your wrists and one of them feels like it’s been cut. Your chin feels like it’s been bashed and your brain doesn’t seem to be functioning correctly.

_I don’t want to get up._

The bars of the holding cell rattle and the noise jars your ears suddenly and painfully. You open one eye softly, and then the other. You seem to have the mother of all migraines. Not long after you’ve opened your eyes, you screw them shut again. The light is too bright and it hurts your eyes.

The bars shake and someone shouts something at you. _No, please stop. Just leave me alone...Just let me… sleep…_

The voice gets to a volume which you can’t ignore, so you force yourself up to sit, pretending to yourself that you’re perfectly okay and nothing hurts. You open your eyes tiredly. Your head is swimming. You can barely see as you’re squinting so hard.

You muster the strength to look over your shoulder at the guard rattling the bars. He’s yelling at you and is pointing at the tray of food.

You gag. The prospect of eating makes you want to hurl violently. You rub your face and reach up to comb your hair with your fingers. You have to use both hands, as you realise you’re still handcuffed. You’re met with a bald head. _Oh yeah, I don’t have hair._ Instead, you just scratch your head.

By the time you gain the strength to look up at the guard again, you realise that he’s gone and so is the tray of food. In its place remains two cups of water.

With a fatigued struggle, you crawl at snail speed towards the water. When you get to the hatch, you slump against the wall there and huff to yourself. Then you reach up to get a cup of water. You pick it up, but your hands are shaking awfully and you end up spilling some over your clothes.

It's then you realise that your clothes are still damp from yesterday’s events. You choose not to think about it too much. You take a sip, which turns into a gulp, and eventually you’re swallowing the water down at desperate speeds. It feels good and it settles the nauseous churning in your stomach somewhat. When you finish, you place the plastic cup back where you got it from and pick up the second. When you’ve had your fill of water, you place that back too. The plastic crinkles under your hand as you put it back.

Filled with exhaustion, you rest your head against the wall, and feel it slowly roll til it gently rests on the bars of the cell door. You doze there for a while, drifting gently in and out of sleep.

* * *

“Darlin’, you look like hell.” You shift slightly when you hear a voice. In agony, you lift your head and open your eyes in a squint. _Things are very blurry and a little too bright, but I think that’s Adam?_

“Hey you haven’t eaten, and you still got stuff to do.” _What could they possibly want with me?_ You sigh dramatically. And squint at him angrily. You look at him expectantly until he finally gets what you’re looking at him for.

“Oh, they want to teach you foreign languages today.” You perk up somewhat at this. It’s been irritating you more and more that people have been talking in strange sounding languages and you honestly don’t have a clue what they’re saying.

Somehow, Adam manages to help you stand up between the bars of the holding cell. Your head is still pounding, but it’s less intense. The world is tilting slightly, but eventually, it evens out a little. By then the cell is unlocked and Adam is securing the chain to your cuffs. He takes you down corridors that you think you’ve been down before, and then turns and takes you down some others. You stop at a door, which he proceeds to open. It creaks like it needs the mother of all oils to make it quieter.

It's then that you begin to notice that all doors make a loud noise. You wonder if that’s because if someone escapes and the cameras are out, they can tell where they are by the amount of noise they’re making. You frown at this in thought, but decide to think on it later as you are guided through the door.

* * *

The room is a bit like a classroom. There’s large square desks dotted around with plenty of chairs around each. At the front of the room, there’s a large blackboard with a few scribbles of chalk on it. You gaze around and can see a few people sat writing, and others are talking quietly. There’s a lady at the front, and Adam leads you to her. He undoes your chains and unclasps your cuffs. He gives you a quick smile and then he’s off again and the door is shut like nothing had happened.

You turn to the lady and observe her quietly. She’s wearing a pristine long sleeved white shirt and a pair of black trousers. Her hair is short and curly and blonde. Her waist is an hourglass shape. She reminds you of... something. You’re unsure what.

She turns to you and smiles. Her eyes are a bright, playful baby blue, her cheeks rosy and her face rounded. Then it clicks. She reminds you of a doll you’ve seen somewhere before.

“Hola. ¿Cómo estás?” _(Ola. Como esta?) Hello. How are you?_

You walk past her and pick up the chalk and write on the blackboard. “Bien, pero estoy cansada. Gracias. ¿Y usted?” _(Be-en, pero es-toy can-sad-a. Gr-ass-ee-ass. Ee us-ted?) Good, but I am tired. Thanks. And you?_

You turn to see her smile as she replies, “Bien, bien!” _Good, good!_ “Veo que entiendes español.” _(Vay-o que en-tien-des espan-yol.) I see you understand Spanish._ She remarks with her shiny white smile. Her teeth are sharp and glisten in the artificial light. You write back on the blackboard, “Sí.” _(See.) Yes._

“There will be no need to work on your Spanish it seems.” You smile shyly. “Wie ist Ihr Deutsch?” _(Vie ist ear doy-ch?) What about your German?_ You write in response, “Mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut.” _(Mine doy-ch ist nicht zo goot.) My German is not so good._ “Alright then. Rусский?” _(Russ-key?)_ You shake your head and write, “I don’t know what language that is.” She nods. “Você fala português?” _(Voss-say fal-la port-you-gez?)_ Although you recognise the language as Portuguese, you underline your previous statement. “你明白吗 普通话？” _(Nee dong poo-tong-hwa?)_ You underline your previous sentence again with a slight desperation.

She nods. “So you know Spanish and English. It is a necessity that you learn Russian and German, as they are the most common languages besides English in the HYDRA facilities. Once you have begun to master those, I will teach you both Mandarin Chinese and Portuguese. You should find Portuguese fairly easy, as you already know some Spanish.” You nod, but you sort of feel like curling up into a ball and dying inside. _Jesus H. Christ, that is a lot of languages._

She must see the look of developing horror on your face, because she adds, “I understand this is quite a lot to learn, and seeing as you are unable to talk efficiently, it will be difficult for you. However, I am aware that it will take time as languages is an art for you to learn. I will help you.” You’re grateful for her support, and that she’s not torturing you yet, but you’re still feeling horrified at the number of languages you have to be fluent in.

She points to a nearby desk with a chair, hands you a small blackboard and some chalk, then says, “Have a seat here, then we can begin and I’ll teach you the Russian alphabet.”

* * *

Your headache and body pains in general still hurt from yesterday when Adam comes to collect you. Now that you’re not concentrating on Russian Cyrillic and how each letter and number sounds and looks and is written, you realise your head hurts worse than it did earlier and you’re really tired.

Not that being tired is anything new anyway.

Adam greets you with a smile as he puts your cuffs on and attaches the chain to you. As you walk back he casually talks about nothing; the latest game of “football”, _whatever that is,_ and the food he’s eaten today. You don’t pay too much attention, but you keep half an ear on what he’s saying, just in case there’s anything relevant.

Turns out there kind of is.

“I’m going on an assignment, so I might not be back for a while. It’s not dangerous, but of course, something dramatic could happen, like death for example. But I’ve done this loads of times so there’s no need for you to worry about lil’ ol’ me. I just thought I’d use some courtesy and let you know so you’re not like, “where’s Adam?” and think I’d left you or somethin'. Which I haven’t.” You reach your cell and he’s still ranting on. The look on your face must tell him because then he says, “Oh I’m rambling. Here,” He unhooks the chains and gets you in your cell and takes off your handcuffs.

He looks curiously at your hands, then jerks his head to indicate them. “What’s that on your fingers?” You look down. Your fingers and some of the palm of your writing hand is covered in a white chalk from writing on your blackboard.

You kneel on the floor and spell out, “CHALK.” At this, he frowns again, then cracks a grin. “Why, can’t you talk?” You can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, but you nod to give him an answer.

He goes strangely silent, then: “You’re being serious.” A statement, not a question. You nod in confirmation. “Oh.” His face is slack with surprise, but then his face is blank. But there’s something in his eyes. They look pained. “Do you know why? Why you can’t talk, I mean.” You shrug with your best ‘I dunno’ expression. You watch his eyes harden and narrow.

He stays quiet after that, and you dislike the silence. You miss his playful and annoying chatter that lightens the mood. You sigh deeply.

You’re awfully tired, so you crawl to your bed and curl up, facing the bars. You watch Adam stand and observe the cells and walk up and down the corridor in his nightly patrol. As usual, when there’s no problem with the other guards and no security calls, he returns back near your cell to stand.

You find that sleep isn’t coming easily to you. You get a familiar feeling in your chest that tells you that you get this problem often, or at least that you used to.

So instead of just laying there, you go over what you learnt today in your foreign languages lesson.

Eventually, you drift off into a tranquil state of rest.

* * *

By the time you wake up next, Adam is gone and replaced by a woman. You can’t work how tall she actually is, but her hair is tied into a high ponytail. It falls to her mid back in a straight trail and it swishes when she turns her head. Your right cheek still throbs today, and so does your right shoulder. The majority of your other pains from that hideous electrocution room seemed to have almost cleared up, so you’re able to move about better today. However, your jaw still pulses painfully from when you smacked your face on the table in that stupid room.

You sit up, noting that most of your aches from your training session with your trainer have faded. _I wonder when I will see him again._ You stand and stretch. The lady guarding you turns and watches you for a moment, before turning and ignoring you once more. Stretching feels good. You walk up and down your cell to get your blood pumping a bit more and jump up and down a bit to warm yourself up.

You eventually get bored of pacing around, and so you sit back on the edge of your bed. You pick at your nails. You hadn’t really been paying attention, but they’ve grown considerably. You look around for a moment. _Based on where I am, I’m gonna guess that I won’t be given any nail cutters anytime soon._ You stretch your hands out in front of you, your fingers spread and you examine them. You still have some small cuts on your hands and arms from when you were messing with the wires a while ago. You shudder in remembrance.

Deciding that your nails are only going to get longer and you’re not going to be able to cut them, you bite and nibble them. You don’t make them too short but just bite them enough to ensure they aren’t too long.

You’re getting really bored in your cell. There’s nothing to do. You’re starving. You didn’t eat the last time they brought food, and you don’t even know how long ago that was. _A day? Maybe two? I have no idea._  You stomach grumbles unhappily and your huff with annoyance.

You look back up with tired eyes, resting your head against the wall that your bed is against. Your cell is so mentally unstimulating. It’s so bland and _dull_. You wish for some colour. You waste some of your time sitting there on your bed thinking about what you could put in your cell to brighten it up some.

This makes you think of your room.

When you realise you’re remembering something, you really strain yourself to bring the memory back to life. You think of the window in your childhood bedroom, the wardrobe that you used to have, the bed and the patterned sheets on the duvet and pillows. You strain yourself so hard to remember. You get a strange feeling in your nose, and blood starts to drip out of your right nostril. Seconds later, it comes in heated streams and doesn’t think to stop. You get a pain on your right temple that starts to pulse lightly, and you realise that you’ve been holding your breath and straining so hard that you caused yourself a nosebleed. You exhale and inhale.

But still, you sit there and think. You try and remember the face of your mother, the possessions of your father. You wonder if you had siblings, and who they are if you do. Your nose is like an open tap, the blood is gushing out and marking your clothes. You pinch your nose in a vague attempt to cease the bleeding. It seems you can’t force yourself to remember more, and this makes you frustrated. It’s like your memories are right there, just out of your reach, like a dam is holding back a flood of secrets from the past. You sigh out of your nose, forgetting momentarily that you have a nosebleed. More blood oozes out between your fingers.

You’re angry at yourself. _Why?! Why can’t I just remember?_ You have to remind yourself that it’s not entirely your fault. Something’s happened to you that’s made you lose who you are. _I just don’t understand anymore._ You try to distract yourself by going over the Russian alphabet, but you’ve gone over it so much that it’s too easy. You smack the back of your head frustratedly against the wall. Blood trickles down your throat and you can taste it on your tongue.

Out of the corner of your eye, to the left, you can see someone place a food tray down. There’s a rattle at the bars to alert you. Still pinching your nose, you walk over and awkwardly lift the tray using your left hand and your right knee cap. You balance the tray and get a good grip, careful not to spill the water, then take it and carry it over to your bed. You place it down and take a seat next to it. In a somewhat stiff manner, you pick up the slice of bread, _I actually got bread today! Wow, must be a special occasion,_ and dip it into the hot, thick soup that’s there. You’ve only ever previously got cold food, and you’re a little puzzled as to why you’re getting better quality food all of a sudden, but you shrug and take it in your stride. _Best make the most of it._

Eventually, your nose stops bleeding, and your nostril feels atrociously uncomfortable. You want to blow your nose, but you know that you can’t. It feels horrible. Trying to ignore the annoying sensation in your nose, you chuck back your water and eat the last bit of bread and soup, then place the tray back down in the hatch on the door. The guard takes it and walks off to who knows where.

You only get one meal a day, you’ve noticed. You get water with the meal, and usually, you tend to get at least two, if not three or four, other cups of water throughout the day. _Guess they want me hydrated or whatever._

It would seem that you get your meal around midday. Or, at least, you think so. Then you spend the afternoon and ‘evening’, _if you can call it that_ , doing any activities they get you to do. Or at least, that’s the pattern of your days so far.

So each time you’re brought to your cell you call it night, each time you wake up and have nothing to do you call it morning, and each time they bring you food, you call it lunch. You’re unsure exactly how many days that you’ve been here in this cell. Your sense of time is sort of warped, but you can solidly recall three days of activity. You think there was a fourth, but your memory seems a bit foggy when you think of that. So instead of settling on four days, you settle for three days that you’ve spent in this facility that you can solidly recall. _I wonder if I’ll ever get out._

When the new lady guard speaks to you, you know it’s time for today’s task, so you get up with a sigh and make your way over to the hatch in the door. You place your hands there and you’re cuffed, then you remove your hands and the keys jangle as the door is unlocked. It opens, you're chained so you can’t run away, _not that I can go anywhere anyway,_ and then you trail behind the lady as she takes you away somewhere. Your journey is oddly silent as you’re used to Adam’s constant blabbering.

You get to a door, and the room your step into is dark with lots of screens. It takes a lot of blinking and a few moments for your eyes to adjust. In that time, you’re unchained and uncuffed and the lady guard is gone, shutting the door behind her with a creak and a clang. You watch someone working by the screens and notice a few more people typing on some kind of keyboards, and others observing the screens. _Surveillance._

You can’t seem to shake the feeling that deep down you _know_ that you’ll never get out.

_Maybe I’ll be stuck down here forever._


	5. Chapter 5

“This is one of our surveillance rooms.” A lady says to the right. She spins around in her chair and is looking at you. She waves a hand, gesturing you over. She types some commands into her computers and points to one of the screens. The camera is moving from left to right based on her commands. “I’ll be showing you all about surveillance today and how it all works. Then we’ll show you some cameras, show you how they work, how to take them apart, etc.” You observe the screens. There’s a lot of them, so you don’t bother to count. Some are in black and white, some are in colour. Others look more spherical, some move around, others don’t. You find it very interesting looking at the screens, but you have to tear your gaze away when the lady starts to show you things on her screen.

She flicks through some files, clicks on some buttons, and you have no idea what any of it is because it’s in Cyrillic and some parts are in German, you think. She has a second keyboard which is mostly symbols and there’s no way you’ll have any clue what any of it is. It appears that she uses that one the most. She talks you through some of the steps of finding and deleting surveillance and where to find it. She clicks on a file and says, “This is today’s surveillance from the training room just after lunch, for example. You have to look for folders that have the correct dates and be able to quickly access certain times too. And you have to be fast about it.” She plays a video by clicking on a file. You listen as she talks you through what each number means around the frame of the surveillance.

“There’s lots of text and letters that you don’t need to worry too much about. Theses numbers here,” she pauses the clip, “Hang on, I’ll switch it to English for you,” she says, then points to the series of letters and numbers in the top right corner. They read: SAT 05-09-59 13:43:16. “So these numbers represent dates and times.” She tucks some hair behind her ear and continues. “The letters here,” she points to the SAT on the screen, “Represent the day. And the numbers directly next to it are the date, the month, then the year. The digits next to that are the time.” She indicates to some other letters at the bottom left. “These letters stand for the country and state.” You look and it reads: RU-MSCW. You have no idea what that means. She clicks play and the recording continues. She glances over to you. “It’s all pretty simple when you know what it stands for, really.”

You watch the footage. Then it really clicks for you. _She said it’s today’s footage._ You look at the date in the corner. _SAT… It’s Saturday. Saturday the 5th of… what’s the ninth month, September? Uh, January, February, March… August, Sept- yeah it’s the Saturday the 5th of September 195- Wait it’s 1959?!_ You gulp loudly. The lady looks at you questionably. Then she turns back and continues with what she’s doing. She takes a moment and talks to one of her colleagues in what you now recognise as Russian. You still don’t understand a word of what she’s saying, though. Then she starts talking to you in English again, explaining what she’s now doing and the commands she’s typing in.

You violently shove down your nausea. _If- if it’s 1959...then how long have I been here?_

Something in your gut tells you that the last decade you were aware of the date, was not during the 50s. You keep half an ear on what the lady is telling you, the numbers, the files, how to control the cameras, the different types of cameras, and so on.

The last decade that sounds familiar to you… _was it the forties? What happened in the forties?_ Your eyes widen as your thoughts get more frantic. _But I’ve only been here for a couple of days!_ You’re alarmed by the sudden passing of time. _I don’t get it! I don’t understand!_

You look at the RU-MSCW and realise that RU must stand for Russia. _Why didn’t I think of this before! They all speak Russian!_ You blink rapidly. Your forehead hurts from frowning too hard. _What state am I in? What does MSCW stand for?_ You repeat the letters over and over in your head, till they’re ingrained in your brain, wondering what they could mean.

You realise you’re holding your breath again and stop for a moment, shaking your head. _Think about this later,_ you tell yourself. _I don’t want to miss out on learning this stuff, and I also don’t want to be caught not paying attention._ You breathe deeply for a few seconds, then you focus on the task at hand.

The lady explains each command she’s typing in, what it does for the camera. You have a look at her keyboard. It seems unique. All of the symbols on the keys don’t look familiar to you, but you’re sure at some point you’ll learn what they all mean. _I hate being left in the dark_.

You watch as she types in some commands, which appear on the screen, and then you look to see the surveillance screens and she points to which camera she is manoeuvring. You find it quite interesting. _Something tells me I’ve always found new technology fascinating._ She gets up and moves, lets you have a seat in her chair (which surprises you), and then sets you tasks.

“Move camera one-six-three thirty degrees to the right, then move it up by fifty.” You press the bizarre keys, attempting to recall which ones do what. You manage to select the right camera, but you make a mistake and turn it thirty degrees to the left and down by fifty. _Uh…_

“Here, you pressed this key,” She points to the key you pressed incorrectly, which looks something like a prong with two little arrowheads on it, “You should’ve pressed this one to make it go right.” She indicates the correct set of keys, which… _yeah, I don’t know what they look like_ . “And these ones make it go up and down.” _Oh right. That makes sense._

“Now try again with camera six-o-nine; turn it right by forty-four, and up by sixty.” Your task is dull and boring, but at least you’re learning something useful for the future. You get it right, and she gives you more commands, which you also get right. You continue like this for a while, and then she shows you how to access and delete certain pieces of footage.

 _Maybe this will make my escape easier,_ you think wistfully. _Ha, probably not._

Your afternoon seems boring and repetitive. You get told what to do, and you do it. Then, the cycle continues.

* * *

_I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been so bored._

Someone else, a male, is with you. He took you to a different room earlier to show you different models of cameras and let you handle them. He talked you through how to wire and dismantle each of them. You know the names of each of them now; button cameras, motion cameras, dome cameras, adjustable cameras, wireless cameras, security cameras, panoramic cameras, night vision cameras, bullet cameras, infrared cameras, network cameras- _GAH! If I had hair I would tear it out in frustration!_

He tested you on which camera was what frequently, so you’re confident you could distinguish a camera in a facility and know exactly how to dismantle it, access the footage and wipe it clean if you ever had to. You mentally groan in tired frustration, but just because you can’t do it physically.

Eventually, you’re grateful to be saved by the female that is your current cell guard. She cuffs you but takes her time to stop and chat with the man you were with before you arrived. _What’s this? Social Saturday? Come on, I’m bored out of my mind here!_ You clink your cuffs together not so subtly and you’re given a terse, sharp look from the woman. Her full lips start to curl up slowly into a sly, mysterious smirk. She tilts her head to the guy she’s talking to, then vaguely gestures to you. _Oh, what did I just get myself_ _into?_ You start to regret ever making a sound. _Why would I even be eager to return to my cell anyway? I only ever get bored there._ You blink wearily and forcibly suppress a yawn. _Oh yeah, I go to my cell to sleep. Could do with that now actually._

They chuckle together, having a bit of a joke seemingly about you. You hunch your shoulders, instinctively curling in on yourself more, making yourself a smaller target. You watch as the male stands straighter as he looks at you, a dark smile on his face which unnerves you immensely.

You swallow audibly.

Then the lady walks towards you. She reaches unclasps the chain for your cuffs from her belt and swings it with a vicious and satisfied expression on her face. She says something in Russian to her co-worker who snorts. She chains your cuffs and guides you towards the door. Then she says something and jerks her head in the direction of the corridor. The man says, “Да,” _(Dah,)_ and follows.

Horrific and sickening dread sinks into your very core. _Oh, what did I just get myself into?_ You repeat to yourself.

As you’re taken down the corridor, you’re not entirely paying attention to the route you’re taking. However, it feels a little _too_ long. The male talks into a device and you can hear a muttered response through the speaker. He nods to the lady who looks at him in question, and then she laughs cynically. The man only smiles in response.

There’s a pause and then he says in English, “It’s been awhile since I’ve had some exercise.” He gives you a full body look over and cracks a laugh at your poorly concealed horrified expression. Alarm settles into your bones, and an animal instinct tells you to knock them to the ground and just run. _Christ, what are they going to do to me?_ You know that running isn’t going to get you anywhere, and that makes you feel all the more lost and small.

_I just want to go back to my cell._

* * *

Eventually, you are returned back to your cell. You were worried that they were going to do something to you and that you wouldn’t be able to retaliate. _Wow, it really is ‘Social Saturday’, isn’t it?_ It turns out that you were all just walking in circles, again and again, and the woman and the man were just walking and talking. You were once again bored, but you feel on edge like the bomb hasn’t yet dropped.

You pass your holding cell for the eleventh time and you roll your eyes. Your limbs are terribly fatigued, your head aches, you’re parched, and the list goes on. The lady rattles a laugh and it sounds jarring in the empty corridors. The man also chuckles, and you pass your cell for the _twelfth_ time. So instead of continuing to be utterly and astoundingly bored, you think on the fact that you’re in Russia and the… the decade you’re in. _So, it’s currently Saturday, it’s the 5th of September, and it’s 1959. The last date I remember… uh, I think is… no, I don’t know._ You shake your head slightly, hoping to clear it somewhat. _I think it’s in the forties, though… What happened in the forties again?_

Your guards have stopped and you accidently walk into the lady because you weren’t paying attention. She turns with a surprised shout and she glares at you once she’s turned.

Before you know it you’re on the floor curled up on your right side clutching your face. _Oh dear, it would appear that I’ve been punche- Oh_ God _, now I’m being kicke- Ah!-_ Kicks rain down on your abdomen and back in a constant river flow. You gasp and flinch, but there’s nothing more that you can do than that. There’s a ripping pain in your abdomen and as you gasp, you choke on some blood. You spit it out. It’s bright red against the floor.

They exchange some looks and have a nervous laugh about it, then unhook the chains and uncuff you. They promptly shove you into your holding cell, leaving you on the floor and shutting the cell door. You cough, hurting your stomach as you heave up what feels like all of the blood in your system.

Black is on the edges of your vision, and eventually, you let it consume you.

* * *

You wake up feeling like you’re floating. This is ignoring the current fact that your face is pressed against the floor of your cell, and that your shoulder feels like its bruised from being pressed into the floor for too long.

But ignoring this, you feel like you are floating.

It may have something to do with blood loss, seeing as when you open your eyes they’re assaulted with rouge coloured pools of what smells like strong copper. _So… yeah, blood._

You press your arm into the floor and force yourself into a sitting position. You can practically _feel_ your face pale in response. Your abdomen feels like it’s been cut open and someone’s reshuffled your organs around. You give a raspy exhale and proceed to the task of crawling to your bed in the corner. You reach it, but don’t have the back strength to haul yourself onto it. So you remain on the floor in a half sitting position, feeling sorry for yourself.

You doze for a while, developing aches from being in the same position for too long. Your stomach grumbles, but even that seems half-hearted. _It’s got to be lunch soon, right?_

Gradually, bit by tiny bit, you pull yourself over to the hatch in the door and sort of lay there with your head propped up uncomfortably against the cold stone wall. _What a sorry state to be in,_ you mentally groan to yourself.

To avoid focusing on your current aches and pains, you cast your mind back to what that lady in the surveillance room revealed to you. _She showed me footage just after lunch, right? And I’d just eaten before I went there. So that means I’m right about my food being brought to me around lunchtime._ You pause for a moment to bite some crusted blood off of your lips in thought. _Not that it really matters, but if yesterday was Saturday, today is Sunday._ The information isn’t really at all useful, but it makes you feel a little prideful. You feel a small spark of something warm light up in your chest. It feels almost like a victory, however tiny it is.

Food arrives, and even though you’re sat by the hatch, the guard rattles the bars and barks, “Schnell!” _(Shh-knel!)_ You don’t know what that means, but you’re assuming it means “Be quick!” or something. _It sounds German._

You wince as you pick up your tray, and carefully eat. It’s hard not to awaken waves of pain when you shift to eat and when you swallow, but you manage as much food as you can. You take a sip of water and it tastes strange and metallic. _Courtesy of the female guard who decided yesterday that everything would be better with a little bit of blood in it._ You twitch your nose distastefully at the taste but knock it back anyway.

You place the tray back, and it’s taken away as quickly as it was brought. The female guard is still there outside your cell, and she looks as you smugly when it’s time for her to put your handcuffs on. The door is opened, you’re chained, and then dragged down the corridor once more for the next bout of fun.

Two doors slide open and there’s a weird... box? It’s made of metal. You’re pushed into it when you don’t move to walk into it. It’s just your female handler and you that are in it, but you can’t help but feel intense nerves creep inside you.

After all, the last time you were in a metal container, well… you were frozen, and that wasn’t particularly fun.

You’re so caught up in remembering watching yourself freeze, that you flinch in shock as the container jerks and seems to be moving. You can’t tell if it’s up or down. Your handler laughs sharply at your terrified expression.

“It’s a lift,” is all she says, then the doors open and you’re taken out.

You feel a weight taken off of your chest once you leave the lift. Your next stop is at some kind of clinical facility. Then it hits you. _Oh, oh dear, oh no, not again._ You struggle as much as you can, not sparing a single care for your injuries. _I don’t want to go in that room!_ You squirm and buck and kick until your handler somehow knocks you onto the floor. You fall straight onto your front and you can feel hot blood rush out of your wrists as your handcuffs cut into your skin. You barely notice the tears running down your face in the mad rush of adrenaline that is pumping through you. _Please don’t take me into that room! Please!_

There’s nothing you can do as you’re dragged into the surgery room. You don’t have any strength to struggle with the four people that are now around you, holding you down. You’re strapped into a chair. Outside you can’t make a sound, but inside you are screaming and crying. _Please! Please don’t do anything to me!_ You squirm in violent desperation, but that’s all you can do. _Please!_

You’re completely powerless, and there’s nothing you can do when a needle is injected into your left arm.

* * *

You sit up in a hysterical fit, waving your arms around so wildly that you slip in your panic and fall hard onto the floor. Your breath comes out in frantic rasps as you struggle back up into a sitting position. Glancing around you like a cornered animal, you realise that you’re alone, save for the female handler outside of the room who is gazing at you curiously. You look to the platform which you fell off of and realise that it’s a bed. It takes a moment to click, but suddenly-

 _Is this my holding cell?_ You look around in extreme confusion. _I don’t remember coming back here. The last place I was, was in that horrific laboratory, about to be experimented on._ You shiver in remembrance. You look up at the lady outside your cell, who looks back with a raised eyebrow. Then she turns away and ignores your very existence.

 _It all felt so real_ , you go to run your hands through your hair and they meet your bald head again. You rub your eyes instead. _It felt so real… but maybe it was just a nightmare?_

You crawl to your bed and climb on it. Your back and abdomen ache, but not as much as they did. You frown in confusion as you lay down onto your back. A deep frown is marred on your forehead. Shaking your head, you curl up onto your side, your arms wrapped around your knees protectively. _It was just a dream,_ you tell yourself. You feel doubt and disbelief, but you repeat it to yourself to calm your wild heartbeat. _It was just a dream._ You take a deep breath and exhale deeply.

 _It was just a dream._ You frown in sadness and inner turmoil as your tears wet the bed sheets.

_It was just a dream, but it felt so real._

* * *

“Wake up, food will be here soon, and you’ll want to eat it,” the lady bites at you, shaking the bars. The sound bounces around your brain. It doesn’t hurt, it just feels… odd. You open your eyes and lift your arms to rub them. Your arms feel uncoordinated and unusually heavy. You accidently hit your eye and inhale sharply in response. Then you end up coughing for a few moments. You go to sit up on your bed, and your head seems to tilt to the side, the world shifting with it. _O-kay, I think I’ll just lay back down for a moment._ With every movement of your head, it swims and everything just seems to tilt unnaturally. You huff a breath and with sheer determination, you sit up and turn, letting your legs swing off of the bed. You rest your elbows on your knees and cradle your head. You wait till things seem to have balanced out, then slowly you get up using the bed for support balance. _That’s it, one step at a time._

You feel your blood pressure drop as dots start to appear and dance across your vision. _I think I’ll just wait here a moment._ Finally, after your cell looks less black and more like your grey cell, you carefully make your way over to the hatch. You arrive there just as the food gets there.

“Eat up,” the male says as he pushes it to you, and you pick it up and settle down to eat. You’re halfway through your meal when you realise that your pains aren’t as bad as they should be. _I don’t get it,_ you think, but you carry on eating as you ponder on the topic. Once you’ve finished eating and you’ve had your drink, you place your tray back.

You walk to the centre of your cell and wave your arms around a bit. You feel little tugs of pain, but that’s it. You drop your hands in mild confusion. _Huh?_ You go to itch your left wrist and your nails get caught on something.

You look down in slight surprise and see that you’ve got stitches in your wrists. In fact, you have massive C-shaped cuts that spread from the inner sides of your wrists and across them. You rub them absent-mindedly. The woman calls you over and as you hold out your wrists you realisation dawns on your face. It becomes stark clear that your handcuffs cut into your wrists, which is why you needed stitches. _And how exactly did I get these cuts?_ The door opens with a creak and then you’re being hooked up to the chains. Trailing behind the lady, you wonder about your wrists.

You don’t get much time to think about your current predicament, as the door to your destination opens and you’re taken through into the same training room that you were in with the man that trained you the other day.

You perk up slightly at the thought of doing some physical activity today, even though you feel terrible. It gets dreary in your holding cell and most of your other activities give you either a headache or some kind of physical injury that you don’t ask for.

You’re taken to a corner of the room where some kind of bags are hanging from the ceiling. You didn’t notice before, but behind the bags are some kind of machines. You’re unhooked from the chains and your cuffs are taken off. Your handler leaves as a new lady approaches.

She doesn’t even greet you, she just says, “Step onto the running platform.” You do as you’re told. Not wanting to get unnecessarily beaten is today’s goal for you. You’re alarmed when the floor starts to move backwards. You look at the woman in a panic and she just picks at her nails. “Either walk fast or run to keep up with it. Otherwise, you’ll get dragged back, you’ll fall off, and you’ll injure yourself.”

You start jogging, worried at first but then you start to calm. Nothing bad is happening. Well, other than the fact you’re kind of out of breath from running and you’re dizzy from not having enough energy to push yourself. But other than that, you’re safe.

You don’t know how long you keep running for, but it feels like years. Your legs are getting really fatigued and you feel like you’re going to fall over if you have to keep going. _Injury be damned, I will fall over at some point and probably die from exertion_. Your chest hurts and your throat feels parched, but you never once ask the lady to stop the conveyor belt from moving.

She presses a button and it beeps, slowing down. You bend over once it’s stopped and gasp like you’re a fish out of water. Now you’ve stopped moving, your legs ache so very badly and you just want to sit down. _I probably won’t be allowed to do that, though._

“Here,” the lady says. You look up and catch what she throws at you. It’s a bottle of water. You feel immense gratitude and drink half of it in one fluid gulp. “Careful,” she warns, “You’ll get a stitch if you drink too much.” You sip some more, a lot slower this time and then return the cap to the water. She puts her hand out and you reach out and put the bottle back into her grasp. “Right; back to it then,” is all she says before pressing the button and the conveyor starts to move again. _Oh, if I have to keep going I’m going to die,_ you whine mentally, but somehow manage to force yourself to keep going.

You keep jogging for what must be ten or so minutes, and then you hear a beep. You feel immense relief and look over to her with gratitude. Only, there’s something wrong. _It should be slowing down by now…_

She presses another button, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil and newborn frantic panic and you feel the belt beneath your feet pushing faster. _Oh, dear lord, she’s speeding it up._ You meet her eyes with a look of desperation, but your gaze is met with solid determination. “You can do this.” Her mouth sets into a line. “By the time you get out on the field, I’m going to make you the fastest runner of all the agents here. It takes persistence and training and time, but we’ll get there.” You watch your bare feet run. They hurt and it feels like the skin is falling off the bottom of them, but you know you don’t have any choice but to continue on. _Well, I could stop but it probably won’t end well for me._ So you force yourself to keep going. You reach your limit, you push past it. All you can hear is the whir of the conveyor belt and your heavy panting. Your clothes are drenched with sweat and for the moment, you’re grateful you don’t have hair. Hair would only get in your face, or make you hotter, or more uncomfortable and sticky.

You’re beyond exhausted, and you don’t know how you’re doing it. Your head is swimming dangerously, your hips feel like they’re going to break, and your legs feel like they’re going to fall off. _Come on, I can do this._ You breathe out harshly and keep going.

“You can do it, one last mile.” _A mile?! How long is a mile? How many have I done already? My God, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk if I survive this torture._

If you could cry out, you definitely would be doing that right now. Your legs are in agony and your chest feels like it’s going to explode violently. In order to distract yourself, you watch your feet and count how many times they hit the floor. _Sooner or later it’s got to stop._ You grit your teeth in agony as you keep going. You hear some beeps as the lady speeds it up. _No!_ You gasp desperately and try to imagine a scenario, anything that could make you run faster.

“Doll, if you manage to survive this, I’ll get you somethin' to eat.” _If everyone said that to me, I might just become a people person._ The machine beeps and it goes _faster_ and you push with a savage desperation.

The lady claps her hands, “Xорошо! Xорошо!” _(Herr-ash-on! Herr-ash-on!)_ She presses a few buttons and the machine slows to a steady pace. It doesn’t stop though, which heavily disappoints you. “Good! You did good! Be proud! You just gotta do a warm down so that you don’t hurt yourself too bad. Five more minutes!” You huff in exhausted annoyance. _It’s only five more minutes, and hey! Then you get food!_ This thought makes you perk up a little, but you crush the hope quickly before it grows too big. _She could have just said that to get me to finish,_ you think bitterly.

 _Finally,_ you hear the beep that signals that steady stop of the conveyor belt. “You did good! You know how far you ran? Twenty-five miles!” _(40.2336 km.)_ You look at her to see she’s smiling widely. “Twenty-five miles without a stop!” You feel terribly dizzy and awfully sick. You wobble on your feet, but manage to stay standing. _Twenty-five miles?_ You think light-headedly. _Wow, I feel like I’m heavy and light at the same time. Like I’m going to collapse_ and _float._ There’s a loud noise as a chair is pulled out. “Come on, you deserve a seat.”

You walk over in a daze and slump into your chair. _I think I’m seeing the light here._ You rest your head back on the chair. It’s metal, and the cool feels nice against your burning hot skin. The lady is talking to someone in speedy Russian and you don’t understand a word, but you also don’t care. You shut your eyes in peace.

She finishes her conversation and throws the bottle to you. You jolt in shock when it lands on your lap, but you drink it up gratefully. You finish the bottle and she takes it off of you. You shut your eyes again. Your heartbeat is thundering through your chest, it’s vibrations radiating throughout your torso and neck. _I just feel like one big… ache._

You can’t even tell if you’re awake or asleep in that moment until the door opens and you jolt up straight in fright. The lady laughs at your reaction and then gets up and takes something from the guards. The door shuts again.

“Here,” she says cheerfully, “You’ve earned this.” You open your eyes to see her handing you a plate full of warm food. The awe is clear on your face and you’re completely stunned. _Wow, I think you’re my new favourite person._ “Dig in,” is all she says, handing you some cutlery. She then takes a seat and eats hers too.

You don’t know where to start, but once you do you can’t stop. On your plate are loads of little pancakes with a white sauce on them. On top of the sauce, something orange is lying. There are bits of green stuff sprinkled on top, but the smell! _Oh, the smell!_ It’s so delicious.

You pick one up and make an orgasmic noise in your head. The lady laughs at the look of delight on your face. “Blini,” she says. “It’s a Blini pancake. The white stuff is cream cheese, the orange is a species of fish called Salmon, which I _love_ , it's my favourite.” She takes a mouthful of food and makes one of the most dirty noises. You can’t help but silently laugh at her. “The green bits are chopped chives too. Oh! And I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but there are blackberries on the side of your plate as well.” You both sit there, enjoying each other’s company.

Your head feels dizzy, your muscles ache, you’re horribly fatigued, but you feel genuinely happy. You’re disappointed when you finish your meal, but you honestly couldn’t eat a bit more. _I don’t remember ever being so full._ You exhale loudly and she laughs. “That fill you up?” You nod and she chuckles more. “There’s a drink here if you want it?” She holds up a glass by the handle. There’s transparent orangey-gold liquid inside. It’s steaming. You look at it with curiosity. “It’s called Sbiten. It’s a Russian traditional, typically drunk in winter. It’s great. Here,” she hands it to you. “Careful, it’s hot.” Then she picks up her own and takes a sip. You take a sip of yours.

Flavour immediately bursts in your mouth. You smile, looking incredibly pleased. “Ginger, cloves, cinnamon, water, honey and jam I believe. I think that’s it.” She nods with finality and smiles at you, “It’s good, right?” You nod, and you sit there in comfortable silence, drinking.

Once you’ve finished she stands, wiping her the condensation off of her hands onto her black trousers. She offers you a hand and a warm smile. “Come along then, back to your cell.” You don’t want to go, but you give her your hand and she helps you stand. You follow her begrudgingly out of the room. The walk is in silence, but it feels almost right.

She unlocks your cell door and opens it. “In ya go.” You go in and head straight for the bed. “You get some quality rest, I’ll see you again tomorrow.” And with that, she’s gone.

You lay there, absolutely exhausted and drained of energy. This time, it doesn’t even take a minute for you to fall back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

You wake up feeling awful. This is a shocking contrast to how you were feeling yesterday which was… well, awful with a happy twist. Your head is thumping, particularly the base of your skull. You haven’t tried moving yet, but you’re absolutely certain you’re going to wonder how you’re alive when you start moving. _Twenty-five miles I ran! Pretty much nonstop too._ It’s pretty amazing, but you really don’t feel amazing right now.

As you peel yourself from your bed, you head gives a painful pulse that makes your breath hitch. Instead of staying sat upright, you cross your legs and lean forward until your head is resting on the mattress. It’s not exactly comfortable, but you don’t exactly care.

You can feel the intense ache in your calves and thighs, as well as your lower back. You mentally groan, feeling sorry for yourself. The light is hurting your eyes _through_ your closed eyelids, so you place your arms around your head to let less light through.

There’s a loud rattle at the door, which is unusual. It sounds like it’s being opened. You can’t be bothered to move.

“I have a feeling you’ll need this,” says a familiar voice before a needle goes into your arm. It comes out almost as soon as it went in. Your reaction is a fraction delayed, but you jerk upwards in a panic. _I hate needles._ It takes you a moment to recognise the lady in front of you as yesterday’s trainer. You look at her, feeling betrayed. She gives you a small smile. “It’s a painkiller. Should take about an hour to kick in. I’ll be back then to do some training with you.”

And with that, she’s gone. Just like that. _I don’t have the energy for this._

You lay back down and try to rest.

* * *

True to her previous words, the lady returns approximately one hour later. You find it easier being awake this time, as your head doesn’t feel like it’s going to split open. She opens your cell door and gestures for you to follow her. It feels like something is missing, but your brain is slightly foggy, and you can’t quite work out what.

You both arrive at the same place you were yesterday: the training room. _I hope I’m not doing more running, I don’t think I can manage._ She notices that your line of sight is over towards the conveyor belt. “Don’t worry, no running today. That’s only on Monday’s. Tuesday’s are your other training days.” _Is it Tuesday? Huh. I remember yesterday, but… what happened on Sunday?_ You look down at the cuts that are still there on your wrists. A thought flashes through your head.

 _It was only a dream._ You frown. _But was it?_ You push down your doubts and focus on your task at hand. “So on Tuesdays, we’ll be working on building your stamina and strength. You’ll be aching by the time you’ve finished, and probably be wondering how you’re still alive, but in time, it gets easier.” She walks over to where you were sat yesterday after your hideously long run. You’re surprised that there’s a table there, but you’re even more surprised that there’s food on it.

“I got you out of your cell early today. Usually, you have all morning, you eat, and then you use your afternoon and evening.” She claps her hands together and rubs them. “That is no more. In order to get you in the condition we want, I’ll be taking you out of your cell earlier. I know you haven’t eaten yet, so here’s some food.” She gestures to the bowl and glass of water, then she settles down with her own. You take your seat feeling slightly touched. _It’s not kindness,_ you remind yourself. _She’s doing her job, but I still feel grateful._

You pick up your spoon and eat your food. It’s thick and steaming and it looks like… nuts in milk? You bite into it, wondering what it is. _I don’t know, but it sure tastes good._ As if she’s reading your thoughts, the woman speaks; “It’s buckwheat porridge with milk. You’ll probably see a few chunks of meat in there too, but not a lot.” You nod and continue eating until you’re finished. You drink your water, savouring it.

When you’re both finished, the lady stands. “I’ll be doing some of the exercises with you, but for your particular training, most I will stand out of. This is so I can point out what you’re doing wrong and where you can improve.” You nod.

“Good, let’s get started.”

* * *

You officially hate exercise.

_Any more of this and I think I’ll die!_

All morning you’ve been doing muscle building exercises and cardio. Your instructor shows you the exercises first, talks you through the routine and then times you as you do it. The most common word you’ve heard since breakfast from her is, “Быстрее!” _(Buh-stree!)_ which you’re assuming means, “Go faster!” or something of the like.

You feel dizzy, parched, lightheaded and out of breath. _Death would be kinder than this._ Earlier she taught you this cardio routine. _There’re way too many jumps in this routine, oh and planks too._ You can barely hold coherent thoughts together, you’re so exhausted. _One last bit and then- Yes!_ You collapse on your front after holding a plank. _No more, please._ “Come on, get up and get some water down you.” With a mental groan and a puff of breath, you pull yourself up and manage to stand with only a mild struggle. She hands you a cup of water and you gulp it down with wide thankful eyes. “Don’t drink so fast, you’ll be sick in two minutes.”

Your instructor has got you doing exercise routines in sets. You do the full routines, you have a two-minute break, and then you repeat the routine. You do this at least seven times before you move to the next routine. _My heart is going to stop if it’s forced to go any faster,_ you’re still gasping from your last bout and you have an exhausted frown on your face.

“You’ve got two more sets to do, then we’ll stop for lunch.” You feel like dying right here and now. _Is it seriously only lunchtime? You mean I have an afternoon of this too?_ You tiredly rub your soaking forehead. _I can’t do this,_ you think weakly. But you’ve been thinking this all morning and each time you’ve thought it you manage to carry on. _I just want to sleep_ , you think with a sigh. She talks you through some stretches, which you do, and then it’s back to the routine again. Each set of the routine takes you roughly nine minutes to do, give or take a minute. Once you’re done, it’s another two-minute break, then one more set, then lunch.

It turns out to be lunch with a twist.

“Follow me,” is all you hear before your instructor starts heading for the door. You comply and follow with no idea what’s going on. Walking in silence, you’re led to the kitchen on this floor of the facility. You give her a confused look until she opens her mouth to explain. “When you’re out on the field, you’ve got to know how to survive. I’m going to teach how to cook some basic meals each time you spend a day with me.” She gets out some utensils, a board and a few knives. You notice you’re getting some strange looks from some other people in the kitchen, but they mostly ignore you after a few moments of curiosity.

Talking you through what everything is and what you use it for, your instructor takes your hands and walks you through the steps for each of the cooking basics. She gets out some pans and heats them, pouring some oil into them and then throwing some small chunks of meat in them, which you just chopped up. She points to the sink nearby. “Wash your hands.” You do as you’re told. You then chop up some strange looking green thing that’s rather long and you pickle it. You frown at it for a while. “It’s a cucumber.” She deadpans, then continues to show you what to do next.

Whilst you’re waiting for the soup to heat and cook, you take the time to properly take in your instructor. It’s the first time you’ve really _looked_ at her, but she’s quite an interesting lady.

She’s not fat, but she’s also not thin. She’s clearly fit, though. Her unblemished ivory skin looks incredibly soft. Her striking teal eyes are framed by a set of dark, thick lashes and a perfectly plucked arched set of eyebrows. She has lips that are big and full and her hair is long, mousey coloured and hangs in soft curls from where it’s tied up. She’s also shorter than you. You have no idea what she’s called, and with no way to ask, you decide to give her a name.

You run through some names in your head. Eventually, you narrow the list down to two names. _I can’t decide what suits her better… Anna or Elena?_ You screw your face up in deep thought. Sooner than you thought it would be, the soup you both made is boiling and ready, so _Elena_ , the name that you eventually settled on, tells you to pour it out. You do a good job and don’t spill one bit. You feel a bit of pride in yourself.

Elena guides you over to some of the tables. Placing her bowl of soup down she walks away to get you and herself a glass of water and some spoons. “Sit,” is all that’s said before she’s off again. Your hands have chilled slightly, so you rub them together and hold them over your steaming soup in an attempt to warm them up. It doesn’t do a very good job, but you warm up a small fraction. Whilst Elena is looking through some of the drawers, presumably for spoons, you gaze around the room curiously.

There are tables and chairs dotted around. All of which are a stark and pristine shade of white. In fact, the entire room is white and shiny. It’s sort of unnerving to you. You recognise some of the few faces sat/stood around. Some you’ve passed in the corridor a few times, but others you don’t think you’ve seen before at all. You’re lost in thought, so when Elena comes back she makes you jump in surprise. She gives a little laugh before setting down the glasses and awkwardly placing the spoons down too. Then she sits herself down and starts to eat. You copy her and do the same.

You eat in silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable. However, you’re a little uneasy being around so many different people without some kind of protection. In this facility, you’ve never been near so many people for so long. Elena must’ve picked up your unease at some point in the meal, because as soon as you both finished, she collected the bowls and headed to the sink. “Bring the glasses.” You pick up the now empty glasses of water, the glass cold against your skin, and you carry them to her. She washes them up and leaves them to drain.

“Come along then,” she mutters and then she’s off and heading for the door. You trot along behind her like a well-trained horse. Elena doesn’t seem so talkative in contrast to this morning when she seemed all right. _I don’t have any way of asking what’s wrong, though, so…_ You leave it be.

Creaking as it’s swung open, the door to the training room shows that nothing’s changed. You can feel intense ache setting in from earlier, and you _really_ don’t want to carry on. You’re delighted to feel less exhausted now than you were earlier, though. _Whelp, that’s not going to last for long. Make the most of it,_ you think bitterly.

“We’re going to be working on your abdominal strength and your upper body strength now.” _Yippee, I’m so giddy to get started._ Your sarcasm bounces around your brain with nowhere to go, leaving a bitter taste on the tongue that you can’t use. “You’ll be doing seven sets of each exercise again, with a one minute break in between rather than two. After an hour of work, you’ll get half an hours rest where we’ll practice some other techniques, then you’ll be back to it.” There’s a pregnant pause. “Understood?” You nod sharply. Elena repeats her earlier words. “Good, let’s get started.”

She shows you the positions you need to use for the first set of exercises, then she stands with a clock to time you. “Ready?” You nod. She glances at her watch. “Go.” As you start doing push ups you can feel your arms already shaking.

You huff frustratedly. _Here’s to not dying._

* * *

You’re gasping as you finish the last exercise that you have to do for the day. _Thank God it’s over._ You heart is thundering in a rapid bullet fire in your chest. You can dizzily make out the blood roaring in your ears as you stagger to a stand. Elena gestures to the chair and tables. “Take a seat, doll. You’ve earned it.” You wince as you walk over. You can feel the pain setting in now, even as you go to sit. _Wow, this is going to really hurt in the morning._ In your thirty minute breaks, Elena had taught you the different types of throwing knives. “Knife throwing is my favourite form of attack,” she’d said, then she’d gone over to the corner of the room and brought over a selection and talked you through them. “I won’t show you how to throw them just yet,” she’d admitted holding one up so the light of the room glistened on it, “But I’ll show you how to hold each of them.” You gingerly pick each up, the burning cold sharp against your skin as you hold them, turning them in your grip to examine them. The serrated edges are thorny and steely to the touch and you are careful not to cut yourself on them.

Elena shows you her favourites and how to hold them efficiently. “My, you’re a fast learner,” she’d exclaimed when she noticed how soon you’d managed to remember how to hold each of them. You’d flashed her a small smile. _What can I say? I’m a special case._

“It’s about five-thirty now.” Elena’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You blink wearily at her, trying to focus. “D’you want to eat first, then shower, or shower and then eat first?” You frown and pout in thought, then you sigh and shrug. “That’s not helpful,” Elena’s voice sounds tight and it makes you look up at her. She’s got a frown that mirrors yours on her brow and she’s watching you intensely. _Well, I’m not sure what I prefer. I guess a shower? Then when I sit to eat I only have to get up again to go to bed. I don’t think I could manage anything else,_ you laugh nervously in your head, but on the outside you smile shyly.

Elena regards you for a moment, her gaze almost scrutinising. She breaks the silence with a gruff, “Shower first then.” You nod in agreement. “I could do with one too,” she mutters and rubs her head. “Let’s not waste time then, come on, let’s go.” She offers you a hand, her body language helpful and open. It’s strange in comparison to her tone of voice, which is could essentially be described as hostile and biting. Her hands are rough and warm against yours as she helps you stand from your seat. Without another word, she walks towards the door, and without waiting, she heads out. You follow in haste, not wanting to be left too far behind. You needn’t have worried, though, as she turns out to be waiting for you just outside the door.

As soon as you shut the door behind you, she’s off again and heading down the corridors in a route that you vaguely recognise. It brings you to the shower room. Elena stops before she enters, though, and you nearly walk into her. She turns to you, observing you analytically before licking her chapped lips. “Do you have other clothes?” You shake your head, giving her a curious look. She lifts her head in a sharp acknowledgement. “You need better clothes I think. I can’t train you with you being in inefficient gear. You need shoes too, or else you’re going to run your feet to the bone.”

She reaches behind her head and pulls at her ponytail, tightening it slightly whilst she thinks. You have to step back slightly so she doesn’t accidentally smack you in the face with her elbow. After a moment, she nods with an unhappy certainty.

“Come with me, I’ll get you some fresh-” she looks at your current outfit with disgust, “clothes.” Once again you follow her, and it’s not long before you reach another room. You wait outside by the door as she says, “Yeah, an asset needs some fresh clothes.” There’re a few mutters in response. “Просто дайте мне проклятые одежду!” _(Prosto die-tea m-knee-a prock-let-yea od-ee-ez-dough!)_ You raise an eyebrow and look worriedly at the open door. You hear a sarcastic, “Cпасибо.” _(Spas-see-bah.)_ before Elena charges out of the door again, and shuts it with a force. “Follow,” she says fiercely and walks off fast. You have to jog slightly to catch up, even though you feel like your legs are going to fall off. You manage anyhow.

You reach the shower room once again and this time, you go in it. _Yay! Finally. I’ve been feeling grimy since… uh, when was it? Saturday, Friday, Thurs- Wednesday! Wednesday was my last shower, I’ve been feeling grimy since Wednesday._

“I’ll put your clothes down over here. There’s some soap here if you want to use it.” You glance over. “You could use it, you reek.” You look at her and see she’s got a smile on her face. You return it. “Here,” she throws it and you catch it. It’s got an oddly sticky yet velvety feel to it. “I’ll let you use these showers over here,” Elena gestures to the ones with more privacy. “You can use them for longer, they’re not on a timer. You nod, hoping she can see the thanks in your eyes because you can’t express it physically or verbally. You strip yourself from your sweaty and smelly clothes and head over to the shower cubicle.

It doesn’t take you long to work out what dial does what. You start by turning one which starts the water pouring and it scares to so badly when it pours over you that you gasp and accidentally inhale some. You end up coughing with a red face as you try and work the temperature from scalding to just warm. You turn a dial and it turns freezing. You curse mentally, freezing in shock then working in a frantic rush to get the temperature up. You manage it after a while. You don’t like the cold. It reminds you of being shut in that capsule and watching your reflection freeze. You shudder to clear your mind of the thoughts and try to focus on cleaning yourself.

You feel immense gratitude wash over you when you work up a lather with the soap. It's flowery scent is beautiful in comparison to the smell of body odour and grimy sweat that you’ve gotten used to. You glance around for somewhere to place the soap and spy a small holder which you place it in. You rub yourself clean, freeing yourself of sweat, dirt, and some blood that you hadn’t noticed before.

If you had the ability to, you’d be giggling with joy, all of your worries were forgotten for now. You rub the bubbly lather over yourself, starting at your head. The feeling of cleanliness feels gorgeous and you relish it enthusiastically, rubbing yourself clean with a fevered glee. _I could do this forever_ , you think happily. You pick up the soap and repeat cleaning yourself one last time, embracing the rarity of the moment.

Once you’re finished, a smile branded on your face, you stand for a few moments under the warm spray of the shower. You let it run and watch with a childish fascination as it collects on your arms and travels down to your fingers before dripping off onto the floor where it drains away. You sigh, feeling satisfaction in your chest before turning the dial, effectively cutting off the water. You shower stops and you rub yourself down with your hands in an attempt to get as dry as possible before stepping out and putting your clothes on.

You open the door and peek out. Elena is busy getting dressed. She spots you looking over and says, “You can use the towel here to help dry yourself. Your clothes are here too.” She turns, continuing to dress. “Oh, and bring the soap!” You turn mid-step and go back and grab the forgotten soap, then you make your way back. You put the soap over near her, and then you pick the towel you think she was talking about and rub yourself down. You can’t help but feel so full of thankfulness that your eyes get all misty and tears roll over your cheeks. You sniff, causing Elena to look over. “Oh doll, what’s wrong?” She walks over to you as she zips up her jacket. You look up at her with a gleaming smile and shake your head. She seems to understand when you look up at her next. Her eyes seem filled with sympathy. “I’ll do what I can for you, doll.” She pats your shoulder affectionately, the first touch of kindness that you’ve felt since you first woke up. Your eyes are flooding and overflowing, fat, cool tears run down you face and you hiccup and you dry them with the towel.

Elena picks up her towel and rubs her hair with it and squeezing droplets of water out of the ends of her hair. You finish drying yourself and put your fresh set of clothes on. They’re the same light grey as the previous set which Elena seems to have dealt with (you look around and see they’ve disappeared), but they feel so much better now that they’re clean. You wipe your eyes to clear the tears and smile up at Elena. She looks your way and smiles sadly back at you. “You ain’t got hair to dry. I guess in this case, that’s a good thing.” She sounds a little resigned. You watch her comb through her hair shoulder length hair and tie it up into a bun.

She jerks her head towards the door. “Let’s go make something to eat.”

As you follow her, you can’t help but think, _I’ve never been so grateful to have met someone in my life._

* * *

You’re back in your holding cell now, dozing in a relaxed state. Your belly is full with those delicious pancakes, the same ones you’d had the day before. Elena had taught you how to make them. She’d made a batch of her own, and you’d made your own. There were plenty between you to share. They weren’t as good as the ones you’d had yesterday, but they were still mouthwateringly delicious.

When you were sat down eating, Elena had been watching you with a question in her eyes. She’d finished her food first. You were starting to feel the horrendous ache from yesterday’s and today’s exercise and you were, therefore, eating slowly and robotically. Then she asked the question that you were unable to answer.

“Why don’t you talk?” You had paused just before you’d put a small rolled up pancake into your open mouth. You shut it and looked at her. You dipped your finger in some of the cream cheese on you plate, placing your food down. You wrote _“CAN’T”_ on the edge of your plate. The plate was white, so it was tough to see what you’ve written at a glance, but Elena managed to read it clearly enough. You’d picked up your pancake then, and finished your meal in silence.

Elena had seemed tense and you could feel it in the atmosphere at the table you were both sat at, but you weren’t so bothered. After all, you’d only known that you couldn’t talk, you had never known any different.

You sigh as you think, then you give in to a massive yawn. You curl up on your side, facing the wall that your bed is pressed against. You snuggle down. You can feel all of your aches coming back, and you recognise the dull ache spreading at the base of your skull, the same ache that you’d been feeling when you’d woken up first thing this morning.

Luckily, you manage to fall back to sleep before the pain got so bad that you couldn’t sleep. You sleep peacefully and undisturbed.

* * *

When you wake, you wake to silence. It’s uncomfortable and eerie, so you look around in the bright false lights in the corridor. You can see the lady who usually stands outside your cell leaning against the bars.

You let your head fall back and your eyelids shut tiredly. It doesn’t feel like morning, it feels like it’s the middle of the night. You sigh and turn on your side again, letting exhaustion sweep over and allowing sleep to claim you.

* * *

You wake to the sound you’re used to hearing in the morning. _You guessed it! The bars are rattling, scaring me to death once more._ You go to sit up and your breath hitches. You end up collapsing. _Oh jeez, my body feels like one big sore._ Your eyes are screwed tightly shut in pain as you push yourself up and off of the bed. You stand up and attempt to stretch. You feel incredibly dizzy doing so and you frequently rub your head, trying to push away the annoying ache in it. The ache today has definitely lessened in comparison to yesterday morning. Your arms and your stomach make up for it, though. They ache so awfully that you wince practically every time you move.

 _Well, at least I’m reminded that I’ve done something good every time I move._ You try and see the positive side. It’s barely working, but your mind continues to try and play the optimist.

You spend a while yawning and stretching, then yawning again. You give into your aches eventually, though, and shuffle your way over to the bed where you plop down dramatically. You rub your jaw and feel no pain. _It would seem that that horrific bruise I had on my face has cleared up then._ You reach your left hand and rub your right shoulder. _That one’s gone too, thank the lord._

There’s a shake at the bars which makes you jump. It’s food. _Yay!_ You get up and make your way over to the tray of food. It’s not the glorious food you’ve had over the last two days, but it’s better than nothing. _Plus I’m starving._ You pick it up and shuffle back to the bed. You dig in ravenously and then knock back the water in three quick gulps. You place the tray back.

You notice that you still have the marks on your wrists. They’ve scabbed over and shrunk, but you can still see them clearly. You rub them.

“Time to go,” you hear your lady handler say. You look up and see her gesture to the gap where you put your hands. You put them there without a thought and your handcuffs are snapped on. The door opens and she attaches the chain and then you realise.

_Elena never once put handcuffs on me._

You don’t know what to do with that thought, but you think on it with curiosity as you’re led to the training room for the third day in a row.

Your aches feel hideous and terribly, terribly agonising as you walk so you’re thankful when you come to a stop in the training room. The chain is taken off of your hands, but not your handcuffs. After a few moments of awkward silence, the door rattles and clangs open as a group of guards walk in with that trainer in the middle of them. _Oh, I was expecting Elena, not him._ You’re a tiny bit embarrassed that you forgot about your other trainer.

The guards shut the door and let him free to walk into the room properly. “Is that the new one?” One of the males say. The lady next to you laughs and replies.

“Yeah, she’s a drag.” You look at her distastefully. _Rude._ She looks at you with a smirk. You narrow your eyes.

“Looks like she’s got spirit.” Another man says and walks over to you. He grabs your chin and turns you head to look at you. You jerk your head backwards and step back. _Don’t you touch me you piece of filth!_ He laughs at you and steps closer again. You square your shoulders and stare him in the eyes. It doesn’t help that he’s taller than you. He grabs hold of your shoulders and you struggle to knock them off. _I’m still handcuffed._

You do something then you come to regret later on.

You gather all of the spit in your mouth and you launch it.

It hits him directly in between his eyebrows. You watch as they crease in rage. Before he can exclaim, you dip down and slam the crown of your head into the gap between his jaw and neck. He stumbles back but you follow him and knee him in the manly parts. He bends over with a groan and you slam his head into your knee. By now there are shouts all around you of surprise and shock. Then you’re being socked right in the face. There’s a crunch as your nose breaks.

Hot blood streams out of it, gushing down your face. You gather the blood in your mouth and spit on the floor, looking around you at the guards. You raise your cuffed hands and curl them into fists. You grin wildly, the blood in your teeth making you look manic. _I could do this all day._

They all run at you and you manage to avoid some kicks and punches, but not all. Somehow you get to the outer side of the circle and then you bolt for the boxes to the side of the room. Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice that your trainer is just standing there and watching the ordeal. You can practically feel his eyes on you as you pick up the rounded lid of the blue tub and turn, using it as a shield.

You glance over at him and barely have time to notice a panicked recognition in his eyes before one of the guards lunges for you. He manages to punch you in the jaw because you weren’t paying attention. You scrabble to stand back up, but you are kicked in the stomach. You make a choking sound before you’re kicked in the ribs. There’s a snapping sound as one of your ribs get knocked out of place and you’re winded.

You feel a rush of air to your side and the kicks stop. You blink blearily, trying to get some air into your lungs as you watch the trainer stand in between the guards and you.

“I was ordered to train her. I can’t do that if you kill her.” His steely voice rings out in the room. You zone out after that, shutting your eyes and just lying there. The next thing you know, there’s a pair of hands helping you sit up. You cough and spit up blood. You look up and see it’s your trainer dragging you over to the wall and you shut your eyes again. He holds you still and, without warning, snaps your rib back into place. You wheeze wetly in surprise and grab his arm in a crushing grip. He pulls it free and then sets your nose with a click. You want to howl in pain, but you physically can’t. You spit out some excess blood over to the side. Blinking rapidly, you look up at him.

There’s something in his eyes which you don’t quite get. Last time you saw them, they were cold, dead and distant. Now he’s looking at you like he knows you. There’s a small amount of softness and familiarity in his eyes. Then he sighs and stands, offering you a hand. You take it and he hauls you up.

“We’ll work on your gun firing and knife throwing techniques today,” is all he says and that’s that. You sway on your feet for a moment, a mixture of pain and puzzlement clearly evident on your face. Your rub your hand over your eyes and shake you head gently. Then, you limp after him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I just wanted to say that I'm so happy with all of the feedback my story has been getting - thank you all so much for all of your comments! It means the world to me that you all enjoy my writing. I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

You follow him with an awkward shuffle. He leads you, as promised, to the shooting area.

Laying out on the table are lots of… _what is that?_ You lean closer to look. You raise an eyebrow and look at him. _Who needs a gun that big exactly?_ You squint at it and spot some writing near the handle. You shuffle closer, wary of his presence as you approach the mammoth sized gun. The handle reads ‘HK SL8-4’. It’s the biggest one there, but you don’t doubt that there are bigger ones.

You glance up at him. _What was he called? The Winter Soldier? Huh, I think I’ll just stick with Winter._

Winter is looking at you with a form of curiosity. You can sense that gaze of familiarity coming from him, and it makes you confused. You try to ignore it, and instead, you look at all of the labels on the guns. Going by look and style, the handguns appeal most to your liking. The big ones look stupidly heavy to you and you don’t think you’d be able to lift them for long if you could even lift them!

Your eyes slide back over to the HK-whatever gun. _That is ridiculous._ All of them are black without a spot of colour on them. _These are either not taken out and used often, or someone has a cleanliness fetish for their guns._ You don’t know what else to do, so you analyse the smaller guns and mentally sort them into an order of favourites by look. As you look closer, you notice some are double-barreled, others are single, and some are more rounded, and others are flatter.

You pick up one and twirl it in your hand a bit. You get a firm grip and hold it up as if you’re going to shoot. You know it’s unloaded, so Winter shouldn’t kick up a fuss. You lower it and twist it about in your hands. _It’s so lightweight._ You place it down and pick up another. This one is heavier than the last. It’s got a super long barrel and you awkwardly try and hold it up.

Without a word, Winter comes over and readjusts how you hold it. He pushes your shoulders back, kicks your legs into the correct position, and grabs your hands to move them into the correct place. He pushes down on some of your fingers, showing you where to put more pressure and where not to. You’re a bit stunned at first, but you take it in your stride. You lower the gun.

“Again,” you hear from him. You look at him and then do as you’re told. You try to replicate exactly how you previously held it. “Better.” You hear after he’s inspected your hold. “Another.” You reach over the table, placing the gun you were holding down and picking up a slightly bigger one. This one is double-barrelled.

You attempt to grip it like you did the previous one, but it just doesn’t seem to work. The grip is moulded slightly different and you’re confusing yourself with trying to work out how it all works. “Like this,” he grabs you again and moves you until you’re holding it right. His sudden and fast grips adjusting your stance make you flinch slightly. _I wish he’d stop doing that._ You sigh out of your mouth and lower the gun. “Again.” You raise it and aim as if to fire. “Good.” Is all he says before he opens his mouth to say-

“Next.” You roll your eyes but do as he says. You wince from your injuries but try not to let it affect you too much. You know you’re meant to be doing combat training, and that he’s doing something that causes you less pain. _I don’t know why; I mean everyone else here is trying to do the opposite… It’s like almost everyone is sadistic here, apart from two or three people._

You huff tiredly. _Suck it up honey, it’s going to be a long while before you get out of this place._ Your breath sounds too loud to your ears. Your nose is blocked from all the blood that came out when it was broken. You can feel some bruises developing as you shift to pick up the next gun and hold it. As predicted, Winter moves you around but not as much this time. “Better.” You lower it and raise it again, without having to be told. He nods once he’s given your hold a look over to signify that you’ve got it correct.

The process continues a few more times until you’re told to start with the one you first picked up and start again, checking that you’ve got it right. Mostly, you do okay, but on some, you get your grip wrong in a few places.

Once you’ve done that, he helps you with how to aim. “Bigger guns are easier to aim with. It’s better if you have a stand for it, too. With a longer barrel, it makes it easier to steady the gun.” _That doesn’t seem logical, but okay._ He picks up a massive gun and arms it. It clicks loudly as he loads it. “The smaller the gun,” he raises it and aims. “The harder it is to hit accurately.” _Ah,_ you realise, _that makes more sense._ He fires it and it hits dead centre in the chest of one of the targets on the far side of the room. You’re surprised he hit it dead accurate, but not shocked. You watch Winter as he disassembles the gun with professional speed. He places it down with a thump and looks you in the eyes. “I prefer bigger guns.” _Wow, I do believe that’s the most amount of words I’ve ever heard him say in such a short amount of time. Also, that was a creepy thing to say, real creepy._

He turns and walks to a stand with knives on it. He picks up a few and twirls them with ease, then holds on out to you. “I think knives are better suited for you.” You take the knife and hold it how you think it should be held. Elena showed you quite a few different throwing knives and how you should hold them yesterday, so you have a better idea than you did last week. _I know how to hold it, I’m just really bad at throwing it._

He steps close to you… Oddly close. “I feel like you remind me of someone,” you hear him mumble in your ear as he reaches to your hands to shift your fingers into the correct hold. You stiffen, then go to move, but the warning in his voice stops you. “Don’t react, there are cameras.” You go to nod, but stop yourself short. “Who are you?” His whisper sounds so pained, like there’s a knife in his heart. As he eases back a fraction, you put down the blade and pick up a different one, examining it in your hand for a moment. Your face is carefully blank. But as you look him in the eyes, you’re unable to mask the mirrored pain in yours.

_If only I knew._

* * *

Winter doesn’t talk much after that. _Not that he talked much in the first place, but he’s certainly talking less now._ Once you’re done with the knives and guns, you think that’s all you’ll be doing today, but he takes you out of the shooting and throwing range and takes you to the sparring area. Near the conveyor belt that you were running on are weights, and next to that stand some dummies. You squint at them, trying to work them out. _It looks like a model of a human head and torso on the end of a stick._ It takes you a moment, but then it clicks. _Ah, punching dummies._

Winter grabs one of your hands and curls it into a tight fist. He places your thumb on the outside of your fingers. “Don’t put your thumb inside, it will break if you hit something.” You nod. With his metal hand, he taps the knuckles of your index and middle finger. “Strike with these and it will hurt you less, and hurt the target more.” He taps your two smaller fingers. “Hit with these and they will break, injuring you more than your opponent.” You nod. He releases your hand and turns his head slightly to nod to the dummy. “Hit it.”

For something so small, this makes you unusually nervous. You look at him then look to your fists. You lick your blood-crusted lips and hold your fists as he’d just shown you. You strike the dummy with your left fist, then your right. The movement makes your chest flare in pain and your abdomen twist uncomfortably, but only for a moment. You swallow down the pain and deal with it. You know what Winter’s going to say before he says it. “Again.” The sound of the dummy being punched echoes in the room. The room feels a bit eerie, the weight of his almost-memory and your inability to talk creating a tension in the room that you could cut if you were holding one of those knives.

Without a word he presses his chest to your back and pushes until your shoulders are pressed together. He takes your fists. The colder metal and his warm hand creates a unique and confusing contrast to your senses. He tilts both of your arms so you’re hitting at the right angle. You hate the invasion of privacy immensely, but you can’t exactly fight him off, he’s way too strong for that. Your nose twitches with annoyance and then you wince slightly in pain, forgetting that your nose was only set a few hours ago.

Once he’s satisfied your wrists are at the correct angle, he grips them and draws them back, then thrusts them forward and hitting the dummy correctly. There’s a loud smack as the dummy is hit by your joint fists. “Try and hit like that each time.” He steps back. “Your previous ones were sloppy.” _Jeez, sorry if I offended you with my amateur punching._ You lick your lips and look up at him with a raised eyebrow. _And stop randomly sneaking up on me, I don’t like it._ There’s a quiet whirring sound as he flicks his metallic wrist in the direction of the dummy. “Again.” You copy the previous movement that you- _well, he technically did them, so ‘he’-_ did. You raise an eyebrow because you can actually feel the slight difference from your weaker punches. Just by tilting your wrists a fraction you can already feel more power in your punches. You punch the dummy a few more times feeling a little euphoric with your improvements.

Once you’ve stopped beating the dummy up, he steps forward and points to the throat. “Strike upwards to knock your enemy off balance. You can do this,” he does a quick uppercut punch. “Or like this,” he slams the base of his palm up, hitting the chin of the dummy. “Punch someone in the nose,” he punches the dummy in the nose, “And you can break it. It makes it harder for the target to breathe and fight back. Strike the nose at this angle,” he hits the dummy just under where the nose would be, “And you can kill the target. Their nose will slam into their brain, killing them.” He glances at you to check you’re paying attention. You nod in response. “Hitting near the target’s eyes is also good, as it can blind them, knock them out, or knock them off balance. Hitting here,” he points to the temples on the target, “Here,” he points to the upper cheekbones of the target, “Or here,” he points to the space between the eyes, “Are the most effective places.”

Winter steps back. “Try it.” You step closer. _Right, so the eyes and the jaw._ You do an uppercut to the jaw of the target, then copy his other movement, slamming your palm into the jaw of the dummy. It bounces as you hit it, and this amuses you. Then you rapidly hit between the eyes, then the cheekbone, and then do a move that he didn’t show you. You swing your right arm across yourself, and swing it back around, slamming the dummy’s temple with a karate chop. You’re panting gently by the time you stop, and you look over to him after a moment of silence. He nods at you. “Not bad.” He looks at the dummy. “Clapping your hands over the target’s ears,” he shows you by slapping both his palms harshly against the ears of the dummy, “Will disorientate the target.” Winter steps back and you copy the move. He nods.

He then steps forward again to show you the best places to hit on the torso. They’re as you expected; the ribs on either side, the diaphragm, the solar plexus and the point just above the collarbone called the clavicle. You hit them exactly as he shows you, and then he takes you round the back of the dummy.

The best places to hit a target from the back are; the kidneys, the rounded back of the skull, and the cervical vertebrae at the tip of the spine. He shows you exactly how to punch the kidneys, and tells you that the best way to ever hit the top of the spine is slamming down with your elbow. He also shows you how to punch it, and the skull, if you’re unable to use your elbows.

After a while, he steps back and lets you pound the dummy in practice. Occasionally, he stops you to show you how to do it slightly better, but mostly he just observes.

When you’re done he shows you how to hit a target with your knees. Your injuries tug painfully and occasionally you hiss, but other than that you manage okay. By this point, you’re feeling a little dizzy and sick. Your throat feels sandpaper dry and scratchy. Every now and then, you cough roughly, which only hurts your injured ribs more. You swallow dryly and pant. _I can’t just walk over there and get some water without telling him._ You watch Winter as he demonstrates ways of improvement. His hair shaggy and about an inch and a half long. Every so often, he curls some of his hair back around his ears. _Must be annoying,_ you think, distracting yourself from your thirst.

After a while, your thirst is getting harder and harder to ignore. _Gosh, Winter! Just offer me some water already! I’m dying here!_ You shake your head to clear the fogginess. You rasp a few breaths and continue fighting the stationary dummy. Breathing is starting to hurt now too. _Why am I stuck in this hellhole without a voice?_ You rub your heated forehead distractedly.

It’s getting to the stage where you can’t carry on like this for much longer. _I’ll probably die of heatstroke because I haven’t drunk enough water to make me sweat enough._ You rub your head again with an exhausted huff. _What a thing to put on a gravestone._ You pause slightly. _In a place like this, I probably won’t even get one of those anyway._ You can feel Winter’s frowning stare, but you elect not to look at him.

 _Finally,_ he seems to notice something’s up. “Break for five.” You smile weakly but thankfully up at him and make your way over to the water filter in the corner and fill up a bottle. You drink so eagerly that a fair amount spills down over your face. _If I drank this any faster, I’d probably drown._ You turn around and lean against the filter, observing the Winter Soldier.

You know Winter is trying to be lenient in some way. He’s aware that you’re injured, however, it’s his mission to train you, and you’re well aware of that. But you can’t help but be thankful that he’s not trying to spar with you whilst you’re hurt and is instead teaching you something less painful, but just as useful.

Nevertheless, he’s giving you that _look_ again, like you’re keeping something from him and he’s trying to figure out what. He’s also been treating you like you’re fragile china crockery and he doesn’t want to break you. Last week he just trained you. Now he has _feelings._

 _I don’t get it, I only got a kick in. Now he’s treating me like he knows me?_ His eyes last week were dead and emotionless. Now they seem quietly in pain but tinted with curiosity. _I can’t exactly ask him what’s going on. Or, you know, tell him to stop staring at me for that matter._

You finish the bottle of water with a few quick gulps and then turn and refill it. Sealing the cap as you walk over, you think: _I wonder if there’s a way for me to communicate with everyone around here._ You ponder for a moment, pressing the cool bottle against your forehead. The cold is a blessing to your overheated skin. _When I was with the doll-lady. I had a blackboard and chalk. Maybe there’s a way of me getting one of those?_ You bite your lip.

“You done?” You look over to him and nod. _Food for thought._

* * *

Eventually, the time comes where you have to leave Winter. Something inside you feels… odd. You’re still trying to work out why he’s acting strangely and you mentally twist yourself into knots pondering over it as you return to your holding cell. You end up giving up, but the thought lingers at the back of your mind.

Battered and bruised to the bone, you tiredly shuffle over to your bed and collapse onto it. You jostle some of your injuries and you wince when you do, but beyond this, you don’t care too much. You’re incredibly tired, hungry and thirsty and you struggle to ignore this as you curl up.

You lie there for a while, but the blissful blanket of sleep seems to evade you. You know there’ll probably be things for you to do tomorrow and you really don’t want to be tired for that. _Especially if they bring out those damn wires again and I’m stuck in all of that stupid water._ You close your eyes. They feel scratchy and tired, pretty much how the rest of you feels right now.

After a small while, you hear some shuffling and muttering coming from your female handler. You hear another quiet exchange of voices between her and a male voice, then she walks away. You frown as you watch this new guy take up her old position just outside the cell. It takes a moment but it eventually clicks. _They’re changing guards._

It doesn’t actually change anything for you so you choose to ignore his existence. You lay for a moment and strain yourself to think of what day it is today. You think it’s Wednesday today. You huff an amused laugh. _Winter Wednesday… Has a nice ring to it._ Assuming you’re correct and it’s Wednesday, the day you spend in that room with the water and wires is a Thursday. _Well, that’s right if I have the same timetable each week I guess._

So far your favourite days have been Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. The majority of the other days have brought you pain and you don’t understand why people would hurt you for no known reason.

You sigh and silence your mind.

You don’t know when exactly, but at some point in the night, you drift into sleep.

* * *

After Winter Wednesday, each day seems to carry on like the previous week. On Thursday, you are again taken to that forsaken room. You have to go through wiring and dismantling bombs like you did last week too. The room makes you feel sick and unwell. The anxiety you feel when you feel the cold water sloshing at your feet is immense, because you convince yourself that you can feel or hear the buzzing of electricity surging through the water. It makes you jittery and it makes your progress in the room sloppy. As a result, a few times you run out of time and collapse because you’re being electrocuted, but it happens a considerably less amount than last time.

Friday you go back to the language room and learn some new Russian phrases and a few German ones too. You find you recognise some of the Russian words from various encounters with your guards and trainers in the facility. _Ah, at least I now know what they mean._ Towards the end of your time with Doll (as you’re now calling her because she looks like one), you write on the blackboard asking if you can keep it and use it to communicate with your guards and trainers. Her only reply to your request is, “I shall see.”

Saturday you once again go over surveillance and cameras, recapping what you went over. Then they familiarise you with some newer technology.

Sunday you dread. You’re taken again to that lift and taken to another level of the facility. You’re led to that room. That man with glasses is there. You panic as you did last time and struggle. You’re violently pinned down as you kick and punch and struggle as your head is knocked and your handcuffs dig into your wrists, causing them to bleed with hot, hot blood. You’re thrust into the chair-like table and are pinned down and metal clasps keep you in place. You’re panting with exhaustion, pain and fear and you don’t know what to do.

Amongst your fear, you hear a sentence that just about reaches your ears.

“Of course Doctor Zola, I’ll see to it right away.”

You don’t know what it means, but it makes you shiver.

A needle enters you and that’s all you remember of Sunday.

You wake up in your cell on what you think is Monday, confused at the cuts on your wrists that are crusted with dry blood like you were last time. You gaze down at them, your face pulling into a frown. You roll your head to the side, looking around your cell. But your head… it feels as if someone’s taken out your brain and played with it and shoved it back in. The back of your skull starts to burn with pain as you start to notice that something has been done to it.

At some point, you hear a lady talking and entering your cell and she hands you some water and injects you. You later come to realise when your head clears that it was Elena giving you painkillers. Some time later you’re given something to eat, and you eat as much as you can, but you can’t eat it all. You feel dreadful and awfully sick.

You’re taken from your cell by Elena and she takes you to the training room. You know you’re going to have to run today, but you’re just so tired. _I don’t know if I can do this._

Before Elena makes you run, though, she stretches something in her hands and wraps it around your waist. She mutters something and then wraps it around your torso. She goes over most of your body and even your legs and feet. It’s only after you start running that you realise she was taking your measurements. You look down at your dirty and smelly clothes and wish that you get something a least a little better.

You’re exhausted by the time you reach your break. Elena leaves for a while and you sit with tiredness evident in your frame as you sip your water. After some time, she comes back and she’s carrying some food with her. Your eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise, but your stomach twists in discomfort. _I don’t know if I can handle food right now._

You manage some of it, but you just can’t eat it all. Elena looks at you with some concern and then it’s gone as fast as it came. “You can leave it and eat it later.” Then you’re back on that damn conveyor belt and running again.

Tuesday you feel a bit better, but not much. In fact, you feel as bad as you currently smell, which is still awful.

Like last Tuesday, you’re taken by Elena and given what you assume is breakfast and she trains you, showing you all the ways a female should take down a target. She demonstrates how to jump out of the way of attackers and how to retaliate.

You’re exhausted by the end of it, but at least you get a shower and fresh clothes.

Wednesday is next. You ache. You’re exhausted. You’re in pain. Your handlers have stopped giving you painkillers which leaves you in a terrible mood. If you could talk, you’d be snapping at anyone who dares to talk to you. But you can’t, so you just end up scowling bitterly.

When you’re taken out of your cell but something feels… off. Anxiety courses through your veins. You glance around. You look for potential attackers. None come. By the time you reach the training room you feel a little sick with unease. The door is opened and you’re taken in. Something is wrong. The door shuts with a clang. Something is terribly wrong.

It clicks then. You’re early. But why? You look around yourself in a freaked confusion. As you turn, a fist smashes into your face. You gasp and fall to the ground. The female handler that you strongly dislike has a disgusting grin on her face. You writhe backwards as fast as you possibly can as she saunters towards you. Blood trickles out of your nose and your gasps are painfully dry in your throat. The guard’s black hair appears to glisten in the harsh artificial light as she bends over. You can see the sadistic light in her eyes.

“I love my job.” She whispers. Then the first kick hits your stomach. You wheeze but don’t have time to react as she kicks you again and again and again. You try and struggle and your handcuffs restrain you. You can’t retaliate. Tears are cold on your face as they fall from your eyes and you beg and beg and beg mentally to make the kicking stop as you curl in on yourself. _I just want to die_.

It’s almost like a miracle from Christ himself when the beating stops. You’re dragged into a standing position and you go to heave, but you haven’t eaten so nothing comes up. All you feel is immense tugs of pain. Your face is soaked with blood and tears. Your face burns around your right eye and your abdomen… you can’t even begin to describe the pain radiating in waves from your abdomen. The female steps back and you struggle to stay standing without her supporting you, which you loathe. It’s only out of pure spite that you manage to steel yourself and remain standing.

“Want some water?” Without thinking about what she’s saying, you look in her direction with a dazed nod. Freezing water is thrown on your face and you gasp and choke with the shock and coldness. Your jittery movements flare up pain all over you. She laughs. It sounds jarred and harsh. Not a few moments later the door clangs and swings open.

You watch with mounting dread as more guards march in. Memories of what happened last time with the guards flash through your mind. You hunch and curl in on yourself even more. You would whimper, but your breath catches in your throat and you end up coughing. There’s a bad pain developing at the back of your skull at the top of your spine. You know on Sunday’s something happens to the back of your head and you don’t know what. The pain worries you.

You can’t even begin to describe the relief that surges through you like a warm comforting blanket wrapping itself around you when you spot the Winter Soldier. You focus on him as hard as you can, barely containing the sheer gratitude in you as you watch him enter the room. His eyes glance with calculative caution around the room until they settle on you. His eyes bore into yours. You find his gaze empowering instead of intimidating and it helps you stand up a little straighter and uncurl yourself a bit.

A guard steps forward and grabs your chin. He tilts it upwards and a lightening pain shoots up the back of your skull. You wince a fraction. Tiredly, your gaze floats to the man in front of you. You recognise him. _Ah._ You pause. _I spat in this guy’s face last week._ Dread flows back in a wave. _Oh dear, what’s he going to do to me?_ Uneasy fearful discomfort fills you up _._ He tilts your face around and spits on it. You do your best not to move and it takes all your will not to wipe it off or spit back.

He laughs at your lack of response, sounding disgustingly gleeful. “Looks like the spirit’s been knocked out of this doll.” He punched your stomach none too lightly. You gasp pathetically and curl forward. Spit dribbles over your left cheek. He whacks you on the shoulder in a manner that could be considered playful, _which, in this scenario, is a lot more sinister_. “No response! Ha! She’s an interesting one.” Then he backs off and there’s a blur of time that you’re not entirely aware of and a loud clang of what you assume is the door opening and shutting.

Arms wrap around your shoulders just before you shudder and your legs give out beneath you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note to say that I've just finished working on another oneshot and to let you guys know that if you ever have any requests you can always drop me a message on here or alternatively on my tumblr account here: [the-winter-buckaroo.tumblr.com](http://the-winter-buckaroo.tumblr.com/). I'm always happy to talk to you guys, and I'd love some requests!


	8. Chapter 8

Something is hitting your face. _It feels like… a hand?_ Consciousness is on the tip of your fingers, but it’s just too much effort for you to reach out and claim it. _Still, sleep is nice…_

You’re floating in blissful nothingness, your mind is peacefully quiet. You feel almost like you’re falling, yet flying so high. Your body is numb and you relish the feeling. It’s relaxing.

That is until something extremely cold hits you in the face.

You sit up gasping and spluttering. Freezing droplets of water gush down your face and neck uncomfortably as you bend double in a fit of pain. You roll onto your side and cough violently. You can’t seem to stop heaving agonising coughs. With each inhale brings multiple coughs and you feel as if you’re suffocating. You panic with every breath you take and it reaches a new peak the more you cough. Someone helps you onto your knees and holds you, an arm around your hips and one around your chest as you heave up blood.

The stark, bright red is such a shock to your eyes but you don’t have any time to freak out. Someone’s talking to you, but you can’t focus on what they’re saying. There’s a blackness creeping in from the corners of your eyes and your vision is narrowing down to a light at the end of a tunnel. Your head feels heavy and your breathing takes too much effort but you just can’t seem to stop coughing.

“Listen!” You hear the shout clearly. “Breathe deeper and slower!” He removes the hand from your waist and grabs one of yours. There’s a moment where he shifts position so it’s not awkward and then he places one of your palms to his chest to feel the movement of his breaths. Somehow, it works. It takes what feels like decades, but is only moments. Eventually, you’re breathing at a pace would could be described as vaguely normal and the coughs subside. You’re utterly exhausted and the person, who you now recognise as Winter, holds you up so you don’t injure yourself further.

You’re pushed back so you’re sat down propped up against his left arm, and he presses something to your lips. You realise it’s the neck of a bottle as gentle trickles of water are poured into your mouth. It’s then that you realise that you’re parched and tilt your head back further with a mellow huff. Winter seems to understand, as he tilts the bottle a little further back so that more flows into your mouth. Water glides smoothly down your throat feeling like a blessing.

He pulls it back for a few minutes to see if it stays down and to let you get your breath back. You shift slightly, letting your head fall back to rest against the cold metal shoulder of Winter’s prosthetic arm. The coolness of his arm is a blissful balm against your heated bare skull.

Without thinking much about what you’re doing, you snuggle against his chest and doze until you’re fast asleep.

It’s definitely _not_ due to the fact that you are attached to him because he’s one of the _only_ people you’ve met that have shown you so much kindness. You’d _never_ let your guard down so much. Well, later on, that’s what you’ll tell yourself when you think about your actions. It’s _definitely_ to do with your injuries. Definitely.

* * *

Your eyes flutter open lightly. The light is bright in the room, so you shut your eyes for a moment and let them adjust to the light behind your eyelids. After a moment, you open your eyes again. You feel like your entire skull is stuffed with cotton and you feel incredibly numb. Your lips part as you become more aware of your surroundings. At first, you think you’re back at home and wrapped in the arms of someone you love, but as your breathe comes in a wheeze and you feel cold metal fingers shifting their grip on you, you come to the realisation that you’re not home.

The feeling of calm and familiarity falls away when you realise where you are. Something inside you feels crushed and you get a bitter taste in your mouth. You tiredly lift an arm and use it to rub your forehead. You cover your face with both hands and rub it a bit in an attempt to wake you up. Squinting, you look up to Winter. His face looks _almost_ blank. You spot some curiosity and concern in his features as his head tilts to the side in a silent question.

You nod jerkily and rub your eyes with you cold fingers. There’s a shift as Winter starts to move to stand. You almost slip up and grab him to keep him there. Almost. You’d be quite happy to just sit there for the rest of the day, but you know that’s not how it works around here. A hand is extended to help you up, and you take it with gratitude. Ignoring the pain lancing up your throat, you yawn and sway on your feet. _I feel a little woozy._ You blink forcefully. _That was the best sleep I can ever remember having._ You suppress a second yawn and blink blearily up at Winter. He’s watching you curiously and cautiously like you’re a fluffy puppy that’s trying to walk but could fall over at any moment and accidently hurt itself. You watch dizzily as he turns and walks over to get some water. When he returns, he presses a cold bottle firmly into your hands.

“Drink.” Complying, you do as he tells you. As you swallow it down in a slightly greedy and messy manner, Winter asks, “Are you well enough to do anything today? Your injuries look awful.” You look down and see some light purple bruises on your arms. _They don’t look so bad._ You lift the bottom of your top. _Okay, that looks really bad._ You want to be sick just looking at it, so you drop the corner of your top and swallow thickly with a cringe.

You should probably go back to your cell and lie down or something, but you really, _really_ do _not_ want to go back to your cell where that horrific lady is. You stare at the bottle in your hands distastefully. You lift it up and drink some water to avoid answering his question. You want to stay, but don’t know how to express that without talking. You finish the bottle with a pained and heavy sigh. You look up at Winter with doe eyes. You spy a subtle upward twitch of his lips and your mouth twitches in an attempt to not smile.

“We’ll work on your knife holding skills then,” he decides and nods his head in the direction of the shooting and knife throwing range. You shuffle awkwardly trying not to jostle your injuries. You notice Winter walks slower with you.

You manage to reach it eventually, and when you watch Winter go forward to collect some throwing knives for you to practice on, you can’t help but start to think that he’s one of your favourite people.

* * *

Your week goes normally (however normal normally is anyway). Thursday you’re tested, Friday you learn languages. The perk of Friday is that you get the extra blackboard and chalk that you requested, so you can now communicate with your handlers and trainers in the facility.

Saturday you feel tense because the thought of Sunday is hanging over your head like a dark black cloud. You go over to the surveillance part of the facility and end up having to wait a while at the end to be taken back to your cell. Your female handler has taken a liking to the ‘cameraman’.

Out of joint boredom and fear you try to think of something to do to distract you from the thought of Sunday. You think on your activities during the week and decide to name your days. So far you have; Mileage Monday, Training Tuesday, Winter Wednesday, Testing Thursday, Foreign Friday, and Surveillance Saturday. You have no idea what to call Sunday though. You try to come up with something at least vaguely inventive, but only the word you can think that suits the theme of Sunday is ‘secretive’. You eventually settle on Secretive Sunday.

With the lack of a better thing to do, you curl up and try to get some rest.

* * *

You wake up naturally today. You’re a little surprised, seeing as the guard shaking the bars usually wakes you. You lay for a while, staring at the ceiling. You count how many days you can recall being in this facility.

 _Roughly… eighteen? Something like that._ You have a strange urge to pick up the chalk on the floor by your bed and start a tally of how many weeks you spend here. You roll onto your right side and gaze down at the blackboard on the floor with the smooth chalk placed on top. You sigh to yourself and reach down to pick it up. You roll it between your fingers, noting the faint white dust that spreads upon your hands as a result. It’s a fairly large stick of chalk, roughly the length of your index finger.

You heave yourself up into a sitting position with some agonised difficulty. Your abdomen was practically purple when you looked it over earlier. It’s so damn painful when you have to move. Nobody is around to help you or give you their pity though, so you choose to deal with the pain and carry on rather than wallow in self-pity. You close your eyes for a moment to gather a little bit of strength before pushing yourself off of your mattress.

Shuffling quietly, you make your way over to the wall at the head of your bed. _So one of the first days I remember is Wednesday. I’ve had two of those so far. So I’ll tally my week every Wednesday._ You draw one line for the first Wednesday and another for the second. You feel a tiny flame of satisfaction kindle within you. You guess it’s because this is something you’ve chosen to do, and no matter how small keeping a tally is, it’s not a task that someone else has forced you to do.

You crouch very slowly to place the chalk back onto the blackboard, your knees cracking as you bend them. You ease yourself back up into a standing position and make your way back to your bed. You like that you’ve woken early, you feel less… rushed? Maybe that’s not the best choice of words, but you feel a little calmer having not been jolted out of your sleep from some bars being shaken.

You sit back onto the middle of the mattress and gently lay back onto the bed. You sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed. You count your breaths, which helps you relax further. After some time there’s a rattle at the bars, signifying that you need to be up and ready to move about. You ease yourself up and make your way over to the bars. A tray is placed there and some water. You eat slowly and drink even slower. Something you’ve noticed about Sunday’s is that you get fed a lot less than other days. You guess it has something to do with the doctors messing with your skull on a Sunday. _I wish I knew what they were doing to me._ You sip your water. _Then maybe I wouldn’t be as afraid?_ Your hands are shaking a little, but not so much that the water is going everywhere. You finish up your water and place the cup back onto the slot on the corner of the tray. You watch as it’s all taken away.

You turn back to face your cell. Your eyes fall to rest on the blackboard and chalk. _I wonder… I wonder if I’ll be allowed to take that and ask what they’re doing to me._ You look at the dark haired guard outside of your cell. _Maybe I should ask._ You head over to the items and carefully pick them up. _What if she says no? She might take them off of me._ You look at the back of your guard. _She clearly doesn’t like me too much, she practically beats me up whenever she gets the opportunity._ But… you need to know what’s going on with you.

Your eyes gaze back down to the blackboard in your hands. _It’s worth a shot…_ You pull yourself together. Inhaling deeply, you pick up the chalk and as neat as you can, you write, _‘May I take this with me today?’_. Your hands are a little shakier now as you head over to the bars of your cell. Cautiously, you shake the bars. The woman’s head snaps round to you. She narrows her eyes viciously at you. Swallowing thickly, you raise the blackboard so she can read what you’ve written. She takes a few seconds to read it.

“Why?” Her voice rings through the silence. You turn the board and rub at the board to clean it. _‘I’d like to ask-’_ you pause for a moment. _Dammit, what was his name? I know I heard it last time._ You clench your jaw so tightly that it hurts. _Ah! Doctor Zola… I think…_ _‘- Doctor Zola a few questions about my head.’_ You skim read it quickly, checking that it’s a reasonable enough reason to take the board. You swivel it in your hands and hold it up for her.

She reads it quietly to herself and then raises her eyes to bore into yours. You hold your breath as you look back at her. You’re afraid of this woman and aren’t afraid to admit to yourself that she vastly intimidates you. _Please don’t hurt me for asking, please don’t hurt me for asking, please don-_

“I don’t see why not.” She inhales sharply. “If you use it against anyone, it will be taken from you.” She watches you nod in confirmation. She nods back and says, “Good. We’ll make our way down there now.” You clean the blackboard, feeling a bit anxious now she’s said yes.

You walk over to the gap in the door and place the blackboard and the chalk down and rest your wrists on top, offering them to her. She puts your handcuffs on. You withdraw your hands and pick up your blackboard and chalk and step back. The door squeaks open and she attaches the chain to your cuffs and leads you out. Holding the board is awkward due to your hands being cuffed. Your fingers ache but you grit your teeth and try to ignore the aching sensation. You’re sweating uncomfortably, your nerves making themselves known. Clinking as your hands shake, your cuffs rattle slightly with each of your tremors of fear. You attempt to calm yourself by counting your breaths in and out. It doesn’t work.

You round the corner and are lead into the lift. It judders as it lowers itself down a level. You watch your handler push open the metal bars and she pulls your through. As you reach the door, you want to be sick. Fortunately, you’re not.

“You’re early,” You hear a voice say. It’s him, it’s that doctor. He turns from his table of trinkets and gives you a look-over. His eyes land on the blackboard and chalk in your shaking hands. He looks at the guard and raises an eyebrow. “What is this?” You notice his German accent is very clear now you’re not rushing to escape.

“She wanted to ask you some questions, Sir.” Her words are met with seconds of silence which only heightens the frequency of your anxiety.

He puts on a knowing air. “I see.” He eyes you up curiously. “What is it you want to ask?” You breathe out gently and look down at your chained wrists, then to the lady who’s got your leash. Without a word she unchains you then uncuffs you. She doesn’t move further away than a metre, though, you notice. By this point, your jaw is chattering in fear and you have a lump in your throat. You’re stood before two people who have caused you the most pain since you can remember.

You take a deep breath, feeling your abdomen twinge painfully at your expanded ribcage. The pain grounds you, clears your head a bit. It gives you something else to focus on. You rest the blackboard on one of your forearms, and with your writing hand you scrawl onto your blackboard, _‘What have you been doing to the back of my head?’_ You scrutinise your words but you can’t think of a better way to word your pressing question. You leave it as it is and turn the board, holding it up for Dr Zola to read.

In silence, he reads your words. Your anxiety hones in on the pressing silence, intensifying it. You’re almost certain that everyone in the room can hear your heartbeat. He makes a sound of thoughtfulness before turning back to his table. You feel a weight drop in your stomach. _He’s not going to answer._ You look down at the chalk and board in your hands feeling forlorn and stressed. There’s the sound of shuffling papers, then suddenly he’s standing in front of you.

Analytically, you note that he has cloudy blue eyes and he’s about 5 feet 4 inches tall. He turns some papers over in his hands. You see it’s an x-ray of a skull. “This is your skull.” At this, your eyes widen. There’s a large patch of whiteness that is evidently clear. It spans from the base of your skull down to roughly down to just above where your shoulders would be. You take only a few seconds to take everything in on the sheet of paper.

The doctor points to the strange thing you’re analysing on your neck. “This is a metal we have placed under your skin. It is called vibranium.” He raises his finger to point to where it connects to your skull. “It connects to your occipital bone from your skull and is connected all the way down to your thoracic spine.” At your bewildered and confused stare, he elaborates. “It goes all the way down to the bottom of your ribs.” You nod, feeling more than a little shocked. He gives you a moment to digest this information, then he continues.

“You’re probably wondering what it does, no?” He pulls another sheet of paper out from behind the other one, holding it out for you. You gingerly take it in your hands and place it on top of your blackboard. You’re grateful your hands aren’t shaking so badly now, but you can sense a faint tremor in them still. _I hope they don’t notice._

Two diagrams are on this sheet. One to the left shows an x-ray of your upper back. The second one on the right shows a colour coded image of… something. You frown at the images. A finger appears in your vision. “The vibranium goes all the way to here.” The finger moves to the coloured image and you follow it. “This here shows the nerves that the microscopic integrated circuits are connected to the inside of the vibranium. I won’t bore you with science, but we’ve made your spine flexible and durable in every way we can.” Zola takes the sheet from you and licks his lips before continuing. “We’re currently working on technology that can upload and download knowledge from the brain.” You note a tone in his voice that sounds a little excited. “You are a part of history in the making. You will become one of HYDRA’s most valuable assets ever to live when we succeed. You will help us change the very fabrication of humanity itself. You will help HYDRA change the world for the better.” _Is he saying facts, or is he reciting a propaganda speech?_ You can’t help but wonder. Still… something in what is saying is deeply appealing to you. You once again feel that surge that you felt a while ago. That lustful hunger to be the very best.

You feel some of your anxiety dissipate to be replaced by burning satisfaction. You clean your blackboard and scribble down, _‘If you wish to continue your work, doctor, I won’t waste more of your time. Thank you for your answers.’_ Zola reads what you’ve written and gives you a smile that on his face could be described as savage. He steps out of the way and waves his right arm in a grand gesture.

“If you would like to make your way over to the seat, we shall begin.” You gently turn and hand over your chalk and blackboard to your escort who takes it. She looks at you with a renewed interest. You walk over to the seat and lay yourself down. You’re still nervous to the bone, but you feel an intense excitement that is starting to build up in you. A needle enters your arm and withdraws a few seconds later.

Soon, you’re met with blissful darkness.

* * *

When you wake on Monday, the back of your skull is throbbing. A few moments is all it takes, but you recall your conversation with the doctor. Despite the building agony you’re starting to become aware of, you feel a small grin start to spread on your face. The pain that once made you feel sick and dreadful, now makes you feel like you’re on the road of progression. The pain means you’re becoming better. It means you’re becoming stronger.

However long it takes… it doesn’t matter. But you’ve decided that you _will_ become the best.

A few minutes later you hear the sound of your cell opening. A lady walks in, helping you drink some water and injects some painkillers into you. You recognise her. It’s Elena. _I wonder if she knows what Doctor Zola is doing to me._ She talks some nonsense that you choose to ignore, and soon she’s gone again to return an hour or so later. The painkiller is heavenly; you can’t even feel pain in your abdomen! Although you feel exhausted still, you feel better now that the pain is numbed.

Approximately and an hour later, Elena returns and takes you out of your cell. Something that you like about Elena is that she trusts you enough to not put handcuffs on you. When you’re with her you feel less like a caged animal and more… _human, I guess._

Once that’s over, Elena takes you over to the training room and sets you up for running. When you’re on the conveyor belt you can’t help but feel pleased that you’re doing something other than sitting or laying around. You breathe out harshly as Elena ups the speed with her controls. _Ah, be careful what you wish for._

You complete your twenty-five mile run today fifteen minutes faster than the first time you ran. It doesn’t sound like much, but apparently it’s a superb improvement to make within the space of two weeks. You puff out your chest proudly as you eat your food.

When you’re finished, Elena leads you out. You follow her and realise that you’re being led to a different room then back to your cell. It turns out to be the shower room. Something else you’ve noticed about Elena is that she tends to let you freshen up after your day with her. You clean yourself up and feel so much less grimy. After drying yourself off, you realise Elena hasn’t brought out cleaner clothes for you to wear. _I could’ve sworn that she always gets me some clean clothes.._. At first, this makes you a little suspicious and then you’re mildly curious. _Elena always gives me other clothes to wear._

“You know last time I took your measurements? Well, here you are.” Elena steps out of the way to reveal a small pile of clothes. Surprised, you walk over to inspect your new clothes. You glance over to Elena whose smiling at you. “You can pick them up and get changed if you want.” You nod. Your head swims a little when you do so. Your painkillers are starting to wear off, but you’re so pleased that you’ve now got better clothes. You pick up the first item. Soft, the fabric is so soft. It’s the softest thing you’ve felt. It reminds you of something… An image flashes through your mind. It’s of you snuggled up to someone. You frown as you hold up the top. It unfolds in your grip as your memory unfolds in your mind. Your pyjamas are a gentle sky blue in colour, the sheets of your bed a similar colour dotted with white patterns. Your hair tickles your neck as you shift closer to the warmth of your partner.

Almost as quickly as it came, the vision goes and leaves you confused. Elena breaks your pattern of thought. “Something wrong?” You jolt and look at her. You give a small shake your head at her and offer a small apologetic smile in response. The top is a white tank top and it’s so much better than the prison-like green-grey clothes you’ve been wearing. You place the top down to check out the trousers. You feel the material and mentally groan in satisfaction. _It’s so soft, wow._ You unfold them. _Huh, they’re more like leggings with a twist._ You’ve noticed that there’s underwear built into your clothes and you feel grateful for that. On the pile, there’s also two pairs of socks, one pair in white and the other a dark grey. The white pair is ankle length and the grey pair is knee length. By the side of your new clothes are some boots. They look like combat boots. Your eyebrows raise, _wow, there are a lot of laces and hooks on those._ You look at Elena, your eyes filled with gratitude and emotion. She nods to you. “Try it all on. I can help you with the boots and show you how to lace them up.”

You peel off your towel that’s wrapped around you. It feels good to have fresh, clean skin, and even better to know that you now have some better clothes to put on. You grasp the clothes and pull them on, adjusting them to make them more comfortable around your torso and crotch. The fabric feels like physical heaven on your skin. You pick up the grey socks. Elena speaks up. “I’ll keep the other pair with me for when we do training tomorrow.” You nod and pull on your grey knee high socks. You wiggle your toes in glee and take a seat to put your boots on. You pull each of them on and then Elena demonstrates on one boot how to lace and tie it up adequately so it won’t come loose. You messily do the other boot, so she unties it and shows you how to lace it up again. You nod when you think you’ve got it.

You stand when you’re all dressed and ready to head back to your cell. “You ready?” You nod. Before she turns away to lead the way out, you mouth a _‘thank you’_ to her. She smiles and there’s something akin to pity in her eyes. “не надо благодарности, дорогая.” _(Ney na-dah blag-ha-dall-ney-stee. Derra-gah-ya.) No need to thank me, sweetheart._ You smile at her. “Не за что.” _(Ney sh-ah sta.) You’re welcome._ She leads you out of the shower room and takes you back to your cell.

Laying there at night, later on, staring at the ceiling, your head thick with fogginess and you body tense with pain, you can’t help but think that, despite some things that have been awful, things are starting to look a bit brighter now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm fed up with all the EU crap with England leaving (I live in England and it currently sucks), so I'm posting this early for y'all. I stress wrote the fic, haha. Hope you guys are doing okay!

“Go to hell!” You spit, small splatters of blood shooting from your lips. Your tongue hurts from where you bit into it when you were punched. There’s a dark chuckle from the man in front of you. He walks around you in a circle, cockiness evident in the way he walks. You may have lost this fight, and probably your life too, but you’re not going down without a fight. Blood is still gathering in your mouth. You swallow it down.

“You are a one with spirit, agent, I will admit that. You will be valuable to us all-”

“I’m not giving you any classified information about the SSR, so get that out of your head, Reinhardt.” Snarling, you go to lunge at that utter bastard but the soldiers surrounding you aim all of their guns at you. You have no choice but to back down.

“Classified information?” He makes your statement sound absurd. _Yeah, well you know what is absurd, Reinhardt? Your stupid HYDRA hat with the stupid HYDRA symbol on it!_ “Oh no, Agent Y/L/N. We want so much more from you than that.” The tall man finishes circling around you and stops in front of you. You hair, previously tied up neatly, now blows about in the wind. You push it out of your face. Bubbling anger is developing into a black hate inside of you the more Werner Reinhardt speaks. “You see, we’ve been observing your work. Whilst Johann Schmidt was still alive, he kept tabs on your work throughout the war.” He circles you again at a slow pace, exercising how much power he has in your current situation. Silence weighs heavily in the air. You watch him pull off his rounded glasses and clean them on his sleeve. He inspects them. When he’s satisfied, he places them back on.

“You have a specific skill set that we want in HYDRA, you see. You have a skill set that we would have use of, and you will be a valuable asset for our research. The knowledge that you will help provide will change the very shape of the earth itself. We do not know the extent of your abilities, but we intend to uncover it.” He speaks to some of the surrounding guards in German and some of the agents close in. They tackle you at once so you are unable to retaliate. You struggle in their grip as they restrict your movements.

“I’m not going to tell you anything!” You speak level toned, but abrasively. _You can torture me all you want, you can take everything that’s mine, but I will_ never _give you what you want, you sick and twisted-_

“I don’t expect you to do things for me _willingly_ , Agent Y/L/N. Quite the contrary. You doing what I want while wanting it will destroy the joy it will bring me watching you be forced to do my bidding.” He eagerly steps forward, closer to you. He’s inches away from you now. The moment is the perfect picture of the fallen hero snarling at the villain as he grins victoriously. “You may not intend to tell me everything, but I will be happy to discover what makes you... tick.” He licks his lips, his eyes glistening gleefully as he stares into yours. His grin is wide and it makes you feel sick.

“After all; discovery requires experimentation.”

* * *

You jolt and fall off of your bed in frantic shock. Your shoulder slams into the floor and your head hits the edge of the blackboard which sends the stick of chalk flying across the cell. Your shoulder jars painfully against the floor and your breath hitches as you gasp. The side of your head hurts from hitting the frame around the blackboard, but you’re thankful that your head didn’t hit the concrete floor. You roll in agony on the floor. You hear the guard outside your cell snort at how hilarious you must look. You ignore the cell guard and lie on your back feeling like you've just had a near death experience.

Your heart rate is thundering at a million miles per hour in your chest, so instead of focusing on your _(dream? Memory?)_ , you first focus on calming yourself down. _Inhale, 2, 3, 4, hold, 2, 3, 4, exhale, 2, 3, 4._ You continue to mentally talk your way through your own breathing exercise. Gradually, your heart starts to slow to a more normal pace. Sweat makes your new clothes feel a bit too uncomfortable so you lift the corner of your top and flap it up and down to generate a small breeze. It works wonders on your overheated body.

You raise a hand to run it through your hair. You're met with a bald head and a moment of confusion. It takes you a moment to fully remember why you’ve got no hair. Instead, you scratch it, refusing to let your bare head upset you. You rub your eyes as you try to clear your foggy head. _That dream felt familiar somehow._ _There was a man…_ Your eyes widen in shock. You sit up in terrible realisation. _That man… I’ve met him! Where have I seen him?_ You search through your memories of the weeks you’ve spent in this Russian facility but you can’t seem to remember seeing the man here. _So when…_ _Maybe before I came here?_ You rub your collar absentmindedly, recalling how you woke on that surgery table before you were frozen and brought here. _Did I see him in that first facility when I first woke up?_ You frown.

You spend a few minutes flicking through your memories but eventually, you find the right one.

_The hands are removed from your arms and the sack is yanked off of your head. You’re standing in a plain white room with the light glaring in your eyes. Various things are dotted around, but you pay then no mind. A tall man with glasses is stood before you…_

You jerk as you remember, your expression filled with horror. You cringe painfully at the agony radiating from your head and abdomen as you try to move, but you can’t focus on that right now.

 _No…_ The tall man with the glasses that you first encountered when you first woke up in that cell not remembering a thing. _No, surely it cannot be him._ The name Werner Reinhardt bounces around in your head. _No. The man who I was hunting cannot be the man I first met! No!_

There’s a fierce battle going on inside you. One side of you feels betrayed and hurt, misunderstood and confused, whilst the other feels angry at you for allowing yourself to be captured by him. _This feels too real to be a dream, yet this just can’t be real._

This is the first time you’ve ever properly questioned your position within the facility. _If I’m here…_ you swallow and look at your hands, eyes wide in fear. _Does that mean he’s won?_

You stay awake for the rest of the night in pain and despair, wondering just what is the truth of the situation and what is the lie.

* * *

By the time Elena comes with a cup of water and a painkiller, the chalk is back on top of your blackboard and you’re seated back onto your bed. Without many words, Elena gives you some water to sip at whilst she injects you with your painkiller. She’s gone and back an hour later, and you haven’t shifted an inch. She waves you over and you get up without much enthusiasm. Elena gives you breakfast but it doesn’t really make you feel any less awful.

You’ve barely slept, so your eyes feel tight and dry. Your muscles fatigue quickly today as you’re made to do your training. The cardio makes you feel sick and the muscle building makes you just exhausted. When you break for lunch you want to hurl. Seated in your chair you bend your neck backwards so that you’re looking upwards in an attempt to stop the feeling.

Elena brings you food which you eat. She seems to know that something isn’t right with you, but she doesn’t ask what. You haven’t got your blackboard with you anyway so you wouldn't be able to answer anything. So, in silence, you finish your soup and drink some water. When you’re done you drop the glass onto the table that you’re at with a clump. It’s fairly quiet in the training room without Elena talking. You would usually find the silence awkward, but you’re too tired for that.

In the afternoon, you do intense sets of crunches for your abdomen and in the late afternoon, you work on your upper body strength. After, Elena takes you to the shower rooms and gets you a clean set of clothes. You’re surprised to see that the fresh clothes are still a new set of clothes tather than the previously hideous prison-like clothes. Elena guides you to the kitchens where she then teaches you how to make a new kind of soup. This time, instead of showing you how, Elena tells you how and works on your memory skills. You have to recall all of her recipe instructions and you impress her by remembering the majority of her instructions.

You both slurp your soup in silence. At some point, Elena gets up and hands you a glass of cold water. You can see the condensation around the top of the glass. You watch some of the water collect and drip down. It feels strange and awkward sitting at the table tonight. Everyone else in the room is sat around chatting and talking about work. You think Elena will ask you what’s wrong today, but she never does. You feel disappointed that Elena doesn’t ask. You want to tell someone about your _(dream? Memory?),_ but you’re afraid of the consequences. It's not like you can tell her anyway, without your blackboard with you.

Later on, when you’re by yourself again, you allow yourself to think on your problems.

 _So Werner Reinhardt… Where is he now? Who is he? What does he want? What is my skill set? What did I want with him? ...Who am I?_ You think you remember him saying your surname at one point, but your memory has become a little hazy from your lack of sleep.

It’s crushing you that you can’t tell anybody without a bad consequence. _Let’s see…_

If you tell Elena about this she could react in two ways; she could help you understand what’s going on and look into it for you, or she could either report what you’re saying to someone else which will leave you probably being tortured. You can’t tell Doll, the foreign languages lady, because you don’t know her well enough. Adam seems real nice, but he likes to follow orders. _Plus he isn’t around at the moment._ Doctor Zola is just a scientist and you get a twist in your stomach when you think about telling him. The only other person who you seem to see often enough is the lady that guards you. You hate her, though, so there’s no way you’re talking to her about this.

Winter is the only other person you can think of. _It’s Wednesday tomorrow, so I could take my blackboard then, maybe?_ You don’t see Winter often, only once a week. You don’t know him very well either. But a gut feeling tells you that he’ll listen to you. _Whenever I see him he’s always got so many guards around him, so…_ you frown. _Maybe Winter is a victim in all of this too?_ You’d never considered this before, being a victim. It’s a possibility that both of you are victims in this situation.

 _So another few questions… When did this event happen? If it did happen, anyway. How did HYDRA get hold of me? Are they the bad guys?_ You cringe, thinking yourself into knots. _What did they do to me?_

You rub your head. _And just why can’t I remember anything?_

* * *

You spend the majority of the night thinking on what you dreamt about, but coming to no real conclusion. It frustrates you immensely that these are questions you have with no real answers. You wake up early again this morning. You feel restless and uncomfortable. You sit up, acknowledging that the pain in your abdomen has lessened considerably since last Wednesday. Shifting and turning, you place your forehead onto the cold wall. In your restlessness, you’ve kindled a heat within you, and you feel so uncomfortably hot. The cold wall is a blissful balm for your over-worked head.

You decided earlier. You’re going to take your blackboard to the training room. You’re going to not only talk to Winter, but you’re hopefully going to ask him some questions about your predicament. _I want to find out if he’s simply just a HYDRA employee, or someone like me. Someone who doesn’t really know what’s going on and is being made to live like this._ If you’re honest with yourself, you’re nervous.

_And when I say nervous, I mean absolutely scared to hell._

In order to free yourself of your anxious energy, you get up and pace around in your cell. You’re stiff and incredibly achy from running and your intense training from Monday and Tuesday only makes you more jittery. You lean against the far wall, opposite to your bed. Pressing your back against the wall, you huff in annoyance. Your eyes are drawn to the blackboard and the innocent looking chalk placed on top. Your eyes shift up to the wall where they land on the tally marks. _So this is the fourth Wednesday in this facility._ You make your way over to the chalk and pick it up. You stand straight and look at the three white tally marks. They’re bold and stark and they stare defiantly back at you. You lightly stroke the wall next to them forlornly. _Why am I doing this?_ You sigh and carefully draw a straight line to mark the fourth week you’ve spent here.

You turn when you’re done. You look around your room feeling a heavy resignation in your bones. You feel an emptiness within your chest that asks you, _just what is the point?_ You give a harsh exhale and place the chalk back down onto the blackboard. _I wish I knew what was going on. I just want answers._ The bars give a sudden rattle, and you look up in surprise. The woman looks surprised at you too. _She must have thought I was still sleeping or something._ She scowls at you then, and turns back around. You gaze at her back with a lack of a better thing to do. _This job must be incredibly boring and lonely._ You take in her tight body frame, her average height and the way her hair is tied up in meticulous perfection. _I wonder if this is her job, or if she’s forced to live like this._

You don’t have much time to consider this before your food is brought to you. You eat, filling yourself up yet feeling oddly empty. You finish your food and water, not feeling very purposeful. Soon, the bars are shaken again. You pick up your board and chalk as you climb off of your bed. You’re cuffed and taken down the corridors. Your feet feel heavier today, like you’re carrying the weight of a thousand bricks that are attached to your ankles.

You arrive early again, but this time, you couldn’t care less. You look at the woman as she shuts the door. She turns to stare you down. You stare tiredly back. _Feel free to punch me and knock me out or something._ Your mouth pulls itself into a displeased downward tug. The woman walks towards you. With each of her steps, you feel your worth for life slipping from your fingers. She stops in front of you. Taking the board and chalk, she opens her mouth. “I will take you here early.” You’re a little confused by what she’s said, but you can’t exactly ask. She walks and places the items onto the table nearby. “I will take you here early and fight you.” She turns to you, a strange smile on her face that you can’t quite understand. “You will eventually learn how to fight back with your handcuffs on.” _Now that hardly sounds fair. With handcuffs on?_ A small, niggling part of your brain tells you that your life is already unfair. You stop complaining to yourself.

Now you’re entirely focused on her, it surprises you to finally notice that her accent isn’t quite the same as the other people you’ve heard talking in the facility. A lot of people speak with a Russian accent that you’ve overheard, but her accent is ever so slightly different. She pronounces her words articulately, but slowly, emphasising each syllable of each word. _Interesting._ You look her over. _Maybe she’s from a country around Russia._ You’re busy working on your geography of the east countries when she throws the first punch.

You just about manage to duck. Whoosh! The air wisps loudly past your left ear. She throws another punch to the right and you dodge once more. The next punch is aimed at your face. Instead of attempting to jump out of the way, you raise your arms to block it. You lean your head back and use your handcuffs to your advantage. Her fists go in between yours and you cross your wrists over hers. Before she can react, you twist under her arm so her chest is to your back and her right arm is curled around your torso. There’s a sound to your right which you barely register, which you have a vague feeling may be the door.

Your pull down with all of your weight so she is flipped over and she lands on her back. She grunts and rolls up onto her shoulders. Her legs kick out and one hits the crown of your head, momentarily stunning you. She twists herself out of your grip and jumps to her feet, as nimble as a cat. As soon as she’s up, she’s charging at you again. You’re so dizzy, you’re not entirely sure how you’re going to retaliate.

She lifts leg up and aims for your chest. At the last second, you register what is going on and crouch, swinging yourself under her leg and over to the other side of it. _Uh…_ You have no clue what to do next so you freeze for a moment. The woman doesn’t put her foot down. Instead, she uses that to propel herself into a pirouette. _Oh man, she must be a ballerina._ Her leg swings high, aiming for the temple of your head. Your eyes widen and you duck under the leg again. This time, instead of standing there like a fool waiting to be attacked, you stumble under her leg and around so you’re behind her. You turn at lightning speeds, pressing your back to hers and swinging your arms back over her head. You lurch forward, strangling her with your handcuffs. You hear her make some gruesome choking sounds and you’re afraid of what will happen if you kill her. You needn’t have worried. _Somehow_ she manages to use your weight to flip herself _over_ your head. She lands in front of you. You can’t process what just happened and stand in shock as she knees you in the abdomen, _which is now double bruised, thank you very much,_ and then grasps the back of your head. She pulls it down and forward and brings up her knee to greet it. Your eyes clench shut powerlessly as she slams her knee into your head. She brings her elbow down on the top of your spine and pushes you down harshly into the floor. Your landing winds you and you gasp and splutter for a breath as you watch her raise her foot up. You dig your hands into the floor and spin yourself around with all of your might to kick her feet out from under her. It works.

She falls to the floor onto her back but kicks you again in the head again whilst she’s at it. You don’t bother to make any more bold moves, you let her win. Once she’s stood she brings her foot down flat onto your spine. You prepare yourself for pain, but none comes. You feel an odd tingle run down your spine in a small vibration. It almost makes you want to laugh because it _tickles._ She makes a confused noise of surprise that nothing happened. _It must be that vibranium-thing Zola was talking about._

She makes a curious noise and then rolls you over with her foot. Your breaths are heaving and tired. _My God, I think I’m going to get a black eye_. You blink owlishly up at her as she kneels down and unshackles you, pinning the handcuffs to her belt. She walks over and mutters something to the guards who brought Winter in for your training session. _Ah, it would appear that we had an audience whilst we were fighting._ A few seconds later the door is shut and you feel a gentle breeze to your side.

You crack your uninjured eye open and look to the side of you. A pair of black panted legs are in your line of vision. Your eyes slide up until they rest on Winter’s face. _Well hello, there handsome._ He stares at you and you stare back. _Fancy meeting you here._ He huffs at you and offers his flesh hand. You reach up and grasp it. It’s warm and friendly to the touch. He helps you up. A few seconds after you’re upright you wish you were laying down. You feel your blood pressure drop immensely and spots dance everywhere in your vision. _Oh man._ You sway on your feet and blink. There are two hands on your shoulders steadying you.

 _Me and Winter have got to stop meeting like this._ You free yourself from his grip with a shy grin and then look for your blackboard. You spot it and go over to it. As you pick it up, you think, _I swear it’s becoming a regular occurrence for him to arrive whilst I’m being beaten to pulp._ You scrawl onto its surface, _‘What will we be doing today?’_

You look up and see that Winter is staring at you with a disconcerting look. His eyes flick from the blackboard in your hands to your eyes and back again. He frowns. You frown back. You turn your blackboard round and re-read what you’d written. _There isn’t anything wrong with what I’ve said._ You rub off the chalk marks on the board. _‘Is something wrong?’_ You turn the board back around and he reads it again. He gazes at you with a hint of _something_ in his eyes that you can’t quite put your finger on.

“No,” is what you hear in response. “We’ll do some combat work if you’re up for it.” He cocks his head to the side in a silent question. You nod and put your board down.

A voice at the back of your head urges you to ask the questions right this second, but you suppress the need. As you follow Winter to the crash mats, you think, _maybe it’s best if I ask him later on when we take a break._ You look around the room cautiously. _I can’t see cameras but I’m sure we’re being observed._

It seems the logical choice to wait a while before asking anything. This way everything looks less suspicious to any possible observers.

You’re also nervous as hell and trying to find a reason to procrastinate.

You walk over to join Winter on the crash mat. There, he teaches you some martial arts. Various kicks, turns, twists, punches and leaps. You feel like a dancer when you get a move correct. He then shows you exactly how to dodge correctly, should someone attack you using similar moves. You keep getting confused again and again and again and accidentally get hit in the face about three times, but somehow you manage to figure it all out by the time you have a break.

You jog over and get a bottle of water. You drink it greedily as you make your way to your blackboard. _Oh!_ It suddenly clicks. _Winter didn’t know I couldn’t talk._ The way he looked at you earlier in confusion seems painfully obvious now. When you’re finished drinking, you swap the position of the bottle and the board, pick up the chalk and head over to Winter. He’s stood with his arms crossed watching you approach.

You bite your lip and scrawl onto the board, _‘Do you have a name?’_. You flip the board around so he can read it. He frowns at your words. He lifts his gaze, confusion in his eyes when he says, “The asset has no name.” _What’s that supposed to mean?_ You gape a bit, not really knowing how to react. You rub off your words. _‘So what am I supposed to call you?’_ “I don’t understand,” he says. “The asset has no name.” You clear the board and scribble frantically. _‘So you don’t know who you are?’_ Winter twitches and his eyes narrow and then go wide. He flinches and his eyes narrow again. He rubs his head. You rub off your writing and desperately scrawl, _‘Do you remember anything? Anything at all before being here?’_.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Winter so horrified before. Well… he’s never been anything much other than emotionless or confused. He clutches his head and makes a noise of pain. “I can’t remember,” his voice is broken and it’s painful for you to hear. You want to reach out to him and say something comforting, but you can’t do the two things at once. You write on your board, _‘I don’t remember anything either’_ and tap his boot with yours to get him to look up. He reads the board quickly and then looks up to your face. His brows are furrowed, his expression distraught. _‘I think we’re being used’._ You show him your words. He doesn’t appear to disagree. _‘I get flashes of memories and I don’t understand why I can’t remember’ everything._ His jaw clenches and he averts his eyes to the ground. You guess he’s experienced that too.

You hate causing him obvious pain, but you need answers so desperately. Being in this facility is all you basically remember, and it’s driving you crazy. _‘Do you know who Werner Reinhardt is?’_ You huff and turn the board so he can read. Winter isn’t looking. You tap your foot on the ground and he looks up again. He shakes his head at your question. You mentally curse. You don’t know of any ways to find out things around here, and you guess there isn’t a way for you to figure anything out.

You’ve read somewhere before, you think, about memory. You rub your head and think. _Smell and sound are two of the most powerful senses to provoke memory remembrance._ You don’t have anything on smell, but maybe Winter’s voice can help him remember something. So you try to work with what you have.

 _‘Your voice, it sounds American. Are you American?’_ you write. He sighs, sounding resigned. “I don’t know,” his mouth twitches. “But I know when I remember anything, something bad happens.” You gulp. Something tells you that you’ve experienced what he’s talking about first hand. _‘I’m sorry,’_ you write, _‘shall we continue training now?’_. He nods and looks a little relieved.

You’ve not got all of the answers that you wanted, but you now know one thing. Winter isn’t here as an employee. He’s been forced to be an assassin.

Winter is a victim, just like you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way guys, Werner Reinhardt is a real MCU character, he's in Marvel's Agents of SHIELD TV series during season 2. If some of you have already watched the series, you may be able to hazard a guess on what your "skill set" may be. Otherwise, for those of you who haven't heard of him, you can look him up. If you want to see what he looks like, [here's a picture.](http://vignette4.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelmovies/images/2/22/Daniel_Whitehall_Marvel.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20141117221353)
> 
> Also, if you ever have any requests, you can always drop me a message on ao3 or alternatively on my tumblr account here: [the-winter-buckaroo.tumblr.com](http://the-winter-buckaroo.tumblr.com/). I'm always happy to talk to you guys (I love a good chat), and I'd also love some requests!


	10. Chapter 10

You’re sat on the floor with your legs kicked out, holding onto your jaw. Your eye is sore as hell and you think you’ve got a black eye. _I’ll add that to my collection of bruises._ Winter punched you in the face. It hurt. A lot. _That was one hell of a punch,_ you think whilst rubbing your jaw with a grimace. Winter is standing in front of you like he’s a parent. His arms are crossed and he’s staring down at you with a slightly amused expression. You give him a death glare for good measure. He offers a hand to help you up and you look at him wearily before taking it. He hauls you up with little effort. He presses a water bottle into your other hand. You scowl at it and don’t bother to drink it. Instead, you use it as an ice pack. He chuckles at this.

“You did good,” he speaks. “Would you like me to show you how you can improve?” You shrug and nod, your head spinning a little as you do so. He guides you to the mats and shows you how you did the moves and why they weren’t effective. Then he shows you exactly what to do and you realise that he’s so much better than you. He must see the look of lost hope on your face because he says, “I’ll help you get better.” You go to smile but it ends up as a grimace as your jaw throbs. The corner of his mouth twitches up. You glare at him again, but with a little bit of fondness in your eyes. “Do you want to go another round?” You tilt your head and gaze at him and then nod. You walk over to the side of the mat and plonk your now semi-warm water and stride back over. You raise your fists tiredly.

 _Let’s do this._ You wait for him to make a move but he does nothing. You watch his face cautiously. There’s… something in his eyes. You pause and lower your hands. You open your mouth to ask him what’s wrong but you catch yourself before you do. After all, you can’t talk. So instead you jog over to your blackboard and jog back. You balance the board on your knee and write onto it.

 _‘Are you doing okay? What’s going?’_ He seems to be on the verge of hyperventilating and his eyes are a little wide. You reach up and rub his flesh shoulder. He jerks and looks up at you. You hold up the board and he reads it.

“There’s… there’s a man. I know him.” _Oh, uh... he’s remembering something. What am I meant to do exactly?_ You nod encouragingly at him. Winter seems to speak a little fondly when he says his next words. “He was small, could never defend himself. Always got into fights but could never defend himself.” You smile at him softly, trying not to wince at the pains radiating across your face. Winter frowns and blinks. He looks at you as if he’s relieved you’re there. But you watch as a horror starts to build up upon his features. He looks like he’s being hunted. You search his eyes, looking for what could be the problem. He goes painfully white, like a ghost.

“If they find out… they’re going to take me back. They’re going to take it all away.” He’s gently shaking his head. You shake yours frantically back. You rush to write down, _‘Don’t tell them. Pretend nothing has happened’._ He shakes his head and turns around. You can’t talk but you’re not exactly sure what you would say if you could. Instead, you rush to grab the water and take it back to him. You unscrew the cap and shove the bottle in his hands. A little bit sloshes over the edge as he grabs it and drinks it up. He mutters something in what you guess is Russian. You grab your blackboard once more. _‘They can’t take it all away if you don’t let them find out. You can talk to me about your memories, I won’t take them away’_. You feel small and childlike as you write, but you want him to just understand that you don’t get what’s going on either. _‘Can I talk to you about my memories?’_. He reads over your quickly written words and nods fractionally. _‘Great,’_ you write, _‘but they might suspect something is up. Shall we continue sparring and then have a break and we’ll talk?’_ He nods again and then finishes the water in one gulp. You take the empty bottle and go to the edge of the mat, dropping all of the items down onto the floor.

This time, when you go to raise your fists to fight, Winter smiles a bit.

* * *

  _I’m feeling like history is repeating itself,_ you think, rubbing your head. Your head is like one big bruise. _Ow,_ you huff and roll onto the mat face down.

“Are you… alright?” You hear Winter and he sounds a mixture of amused and timid. You raise one hand lazily and put your thumb up. _Right as rain thank you, just fabulous._ He snorts quietly and nudges you with his boot. “Hey, if you wanted to talk, I think now is a good time. I don’t know how much time we have left.” You see his point but your head feels like it’s been split open. Earlier he punched you accidently with his flesh hand and this time… well, he punched you with his metal one. You roll over with little enthusiasm onto your back and blink at him. He’s smiling at you gently. You pout and dramatically throw a hand in the air. He helps you up and steadies you.

Everything feels okay for a few seconds and then your blood pressure drops in your head. You sway on your feet as a million dots dance before your eyes. You feel a hand on your back holding you up. You hold your forehead dizzily. _Oh man, he packs a mean punch._ You shake your head in the hope that it will clear. It sort of works, but your head is still throbbing nastily.

You head over to your blackboard and bend to pick it up, almost falling over again. You manage to stand up again, but you have to pause before walking back to Winter. You look at him with caution. His body language is defensive, but his eyes look non-hostile. _We’re in this together,_ you think. You hesitate for a second.

And then you tell him everything.

* * *

 Anxious doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel as you’re taken back to your cell. None of the guards seem too concerned about anything, though, so you’re pretty confident that no one noticed your conversation with Winter. On Thursday, you manage to master the wire sorting and bomb dismantling and setting up. They take you out of the water room, _thank God,_ and take you to a room similar to the one you do languages in. There’s some kind of computer and they teach you how to hack. It’s dull, slow, and boring as hell learning programming. You manage it okay, though, and the only injuries that you gain is a headache.

On Friday, you manage to master some more advanced Russian and more basic German. You’ve noticed recently that you’ve been able to pick up a lot of what other people in the facility say now that you’ve become more acquainted with foreign languages. You’re tired, but you feel okay. The days are long and dull, but you learn a lot. Nothing exciting seems to happen.

Saturday they stop teaching you surveillance. You’re incredibly confused at first, but then someone explains to you that Saturday there will be training in the morning for you, and in the afternoon/evening you will be working on more hacking, like on Thursday. _I guess this means I’ll learn things faster,_ you think. You’re delighted to find out that the person training you on Saturday morning is Winter. You have to suppress a growing smile when you see him walk into the training room. You didn’t think that you’d be needing to ask anything today, though, so you haven’t brought your blackboard. You feel a little crushed at this. As the door shuts, Winter comes closer to you. He looks around for a moment and then to you. You make a writing gesture with your hands and then shrug. _No can do, my friend._ He nods at you.

“Let’s work on your combat then,” he says. And then you get started.

* * *

 Weeks pass by in a blur and not much changes. The tally on your wall has grown to twenty-five weeks by now. The timetables for your weeks have gradually changed. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday have stayed the same. However, on Thursday morning, you now learn languages and in the afternoon, tests are done on your head. If your hair starts to grow again, they shave it. Whilst the thought of not having your hair is unpleasant, it’s the pain from the tests that scar you. It’s like lightening carves a path through your head whilst these tests are done. You hear the same word repeated throughout each procedure, but you have no clue what it means. “Электричество.” _(Elek-trey-chest-va.)_

They chant, as if it’s a ritual. They force you to remain conscious so they can analyse your brain patterns in the procedures.

Friday’s you see Winter again. You always feel a little brain-dead, but you manage to cope. Winter you how to survive on your own with little supplies on Friday’s, and you’re so grateful to him that he takes everything slow. You’ve told him what they’re doing to your head, so he understands what’s going on. You both have conversations a bit more often now. Winter’s quite a chatty person when you get him in the right mood. It seems he’s remembering more from his history. He told you last time that he knew someone called Carter, and she had brown hair.

Saturday and Sunday you’re unconscious for. Zola says that he’s working on something magnificent, but you have no clue what he’s on about.

Week twenty-seven, Adam returns and you don’t see that lady again guard again. It’s nice to have a friendly face around more often, but Adam doesn’t talk as much as before. If anything, Adam is more strict and his words are harsher than before. He smiles less too.

Week forty-two you have a memory. You knew someone once, his name was Timothy, but everyone called him ‘Dum Dum’ for some reason. You don’t remember much else.

Week seventy-five feels different after Thursday’s testing. It’s Friday and you’re with Winter. You’re going over long distance shots at targets when you feel it. You hear this whining sound and you flinch. Dropping the gun, you clutch your head with a desperation. Winter has a hold on your shoulders and you sag in his grip, knowing he’ll catch you. He takes you over to and sits you down on a chair. A few moments later you feel… amazing.

There are no perfect words to describe it, but every one of your senses feels… heightened? The colours in the room are so bright. You sit up straight and look at the grey wall. You can see exactly what shades the walls fade to when there’s a shadow. You can pick up the intense glints of Winter’s metal arm. The stark, icy shade of his eyes and the depth of the purple circles beneath them. You can see how his pupils narrow in concern and you can _hear_ how his breath sounds. He’s not just _breathing_ , he’s breathing with _worry._ You can feel this warm hand on your back, the exact texture of your clothes. You can hear Winter’s breaths, the sound your eyes make as you blink. Your taste and smell are sharp and strong. You feel surreal.

“Are you alright?” Your head jerks to turn and look at Winter as he speaks to you. You cock your head to the side. His voice is smooth and American. You’ve heard this accent before, but you can’t place your finger on which part of American he’s from. Winter keeps talking to you, but you’re not focusing on the words, you’re focusing on the _sounds_ of the words. It’s stunning. It’s beautiful. _Something must have been in that water, because holy hell, this is fascinating._ Observing the features of Winter’s face is stunning. A light perspiration on his forehead, a dribble of sweat down by his left ear. The line’s around his eyes, the way his eyelashes flutter as he blinks, the hair on his eyebrows.

Hands cup your cheeks; one cool and smooth, the other one warm and calloused. “Talk to me,” he says. His eyes are darting between yours. “Are you alright?” You smile, an upward tilt of your lip. _Yes,_ you nod to him. He frowns, concerned about your wellbeing. “What’s going on?” _Oh, so much._ You sit there in a daze, overwhelmed by your senses.

Winter shoots up straight into a rigid standing position when the door makes a noise. Agents come whizzing through and you see a short man whom you recognise. Dr Zola. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Winter tense up at the sight of him. You stand up and place yourself between Winter and the guards, feeling protective.

“I see the effects have kicked in already. You can feel it, can’t you? Everything in the room.” You gaze at him. You nod slowly. He smiles. “Well, I have a present for you, my pet.” You narrow your eyes, trying to hide the tenseness in your figure. You’re not sure whether to call them agents or soldiers, but they scramble around. There’s a box they’re fiddling around with. “This is only a prototype, but I’m sure you will think that it is sufficient for the time being.” A soldier hands you a small box. It fits perfectly in the centre of your palm. You look at the black box, seeing the artificial light from the room reflecting off of it. You glance at Zola. “Open it,” he says.

Brushing your fingers softly along the lid, you lift it off of the box. In the middle of it lies a strange looking gadget. It’s small and black and it looks like a bean. You frown. _What the hell is that?_ Carefully, as if it’s a small explosive of some kind, you pick it up. Nothing happens. You pause. _Is this a joke?_ Frowning, you hold it up.

“Place it in your right ear,” Zola says, his voice eerie and loud in the otherwise silent room. Gingerly, you shift it in your grip and place it in your right ear, as asked. _Is this some kind of a trap, what is supposed to happen?_ “Run your finger over the edge gently.” You reach up a hand and stroke the device.

Then it happens.

There’s a whirr as the device clicks on. A cold snake-like metal crawls upon your neck and into the socket at the back of your skull. You can’t scream, but you would if you could. You clutch your head and fall, jarring your knees painfully on the hard ground. You bend over, in agony, clawing at the base of your skull where the metal meets your flesh. There’s a clicking sound happening as the earpiece spreads further. Something snakes to your jaw and clamps down on your tongue inside your mouth. You scratch, you beat, you claw to stop the pain, but you can’t. Soon, you’re left twitching on the floor helplessly. The metal in your mouth is cool as it flexes and curls around your tongue. You have no idea what it does or how it works. Your new heightened senses make the pain more clear, more extreme. You flinch every few seconds and eventually, you lay still once the pain stops.

“Say something,” Zola’s voice rings found and clear, but it sounds jarring to your ears. You brace your arms against the floor and shift onto your knees. You breathe, your breath sounding harsh against the floor as you push yourself to stand. Small trickles of blood dribble down your neck from your ear. You look up, suppressing your shivers of pain as you look into Zola’s eyes. Your breath seems slowed, loud to your ears.

“Электричество.” _(Elek-trey-chest-va.)_ That word again, reminding you of everything they put you through on Thursdays, the lightning pain shooting through your skull.

You clench your jaw, refusing to open your mouth. You close your eyes and project the words you want, bringing them to the front of your mind. But through the midst of everything, you can’t suppress the words you know you have to say.

“Готов выполнить.” _(Gatov vee-poll-neet.) Ready to comply._

Your voice sounds clipped, mechanical and cold through the piece. Your eyes open and you look at Zola in the eyes. One of the guards translates what you’ve said to him and the satisfaction in his grin is unimaginable.

“Хорошо, солдат.” _(Herr-ash-on, sol-dat.) Good, soldier._ You nod, trying to ignore how dizzy you feel. “We’ll leave you to your training. You may continue.” The soldiers and the doctor file out of the room one by one. The door slams shut, the sound reverberating throughout the silent room. The silence stretches on. You’re trying to comprehend what just happened. _I have a voice!_ You could cry with joy. Your developing smile crumbles, though. _I have a voice… at what cost?_

Winter touches your shoulder gently, a silent question about your wellbeing.

“Excuse my coarse language...” your clipped, clear and accentless robotic voice sounds out in the room. “But holy fuck.”

* * *

 At week seventy-six, your earpiece is removed for an upgrade.The process is painful and you almost pass out from it. Unfortunately, you don’t. Each time you’re in pain, that word, электричество _(elek-trey-chest-va)_ , is repeated along with a new word, милостивый _(meel-ostee-vee)._ Neither of these words are explained to you at all, they’re just repeated. Blood trickles from your ear and you spit some out of your mouth when the strange snake-like metal retracts back to the earpiece. You’re not handed a new one until some time later. It’s dull and painful, having to lay still as you’re experimented on. There are a few sparks of intense white hot pain that flash through your head every now and then. You guess is must be the experiments they’re running on the new socket in your head.

Zola has taken some time to explain vague things about what he’s doing to you. At the moment, all you know is that they’re trying to upload information to your brain. You don’t exactly know how. Something was mentioned about connecting wires and circuits to your brain. Being in that laboratory freaks you out, but you do your best to remain as calm as you can throughout all of the procedures.

After week eighty-nine things are clearer. Your heightened senses make everything a bit too intense, but you’ve managed to tone down on your focus. You’re able to zone out of your surroundings now and focus more on what you want to focus on. You’ve been getting unimaginable headaches ever since Zola started working on inputting information. Sometimes you end up dizzy and unable to perform at your best. On two occasions you’ve actually passed out.

Week ninety you don’t see Winter at all. You don’t know where he’s gone. You think about asking someone but decide against it in case something goes wrong about your inquiry.

Week ninety-four is white. You don’t remember a thing.

Week ninety-seven, Winter comes back and you continue his training as if nothing happened. He explains to you about how he went on a mission. He doesn’t give you any details. You don’t ask. Each evening, you feel forlorn; you’re losing any scraps of hope that you have left, as you observe the many white lines on your cell wall.

At the weekend of week ninety-nine, Zola explains that they will try and upload the first batch of information to your brain. You don’t know what’s going to happen. You feel afraid as they feed you knowledge through the socket at your skull. It burns, but if HYDRA has taught you anything, it’s endurance. You gain a cracking headache, but you manage to register the foreign information they give to you. It’s amazing.

The process is slow, painfully slow, but it absolutely fascinates you. You register the entire Portuguese language in an afternoon and can now recall it perfectly. The downside is that you feel like you could sleep for a lifetime. Zola says that things will progress; the technology will advance as they work, there will be more information in less time, and you will become extremely efficient. A new earpiece is given to you and you’re told that you can turn it on and off whenever you want to. You elect to not turn it on, scarred by your previous experience.

At seven hundred and one days, you stop counting the weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part one of my story (first 10 chapters is part one). Basically this means I will update in a few weeks or so (I'm busy with RL stuff and I want to make every chapter perfect for you all). Meanwhile, I'm finishing a oneshot and I've done some art for the story. I drew Elena and you can find it [here.](http://the-winter-buckaroo.tumblr.com/post/146860494351/i-did-a-quick-sketch-of-what-i-think-elena-looks)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, there's a really important note at the bottom of this, and I would be so, so grateful if you guys would take some time to read it. Thanks! I hope the next chapter was worth the wait!

You’re not conscious but you can still feel yourself thaw out, piece by piece. It feels like your soul is being pulled out of your body with a rope when you finally wake up. Your eyelids part feeling like they’ve been sealed together with glue. You emanate a sigh and go to groan but no sound comes out in your exhale. At first, you’re confused. Slowly, though, you recall pieces of information the more you awaken.

First, there’s the knowledge that you’ve been woken up from cryogenic sleep. Second, is that this doesn’t happen unless you’re needed for a mission. Third, this means that you are required for an assassination.

“Доброе день, солдат.” _(Dob-ray dee-en, sol-dat.) Good day, soldier._ You sit up and nod at your handler in acknowledgement. The man in front of your rattles off instructions. A basic summary is that you have to assassinate someone in the USA. You will be heading out in a few hours on a flight to Dallas, Texas. A man, your target, is becoming a problem to the Soviet Union and you need to deal with him. Your job is to find a decent sniper's nest where you won’t be noticed and take the shot without missing. _Easy._ You’ll be going with a handler and four other agents so that the mission doesn’t go wrong.

You’re handed your earpiece and you take it. Placing it in your right ear, you slide your finger along the side of the device. It clicks and a tiny light flashes blue. The small metal uncurls, clasping onto your ear as another silvered piece hooks around the back of your jaw, stretching to connect to the socket at you neck. A small piece slides along your jawline, curving to the corner of your mouth, hooking onto the corner of your lip. HYDRAs technology has improved vastly in the last two years and you’re immensely grateful for that. After all, the less pain, the better.

Finishing his speech, the man in front of you stares into your eyes. You nod once you’re capable of speech. “Понимал, мастер.” _(Pon-ee-mal, master.) Understood, master._ The sound of your voice has vastly improved. It sounds much more human now and less robotic. He nods in confirmation.

“Хорошо.” He salutes to a soldier to your right and turns, walking out.

Spiritless, you watch him go. You stand and stretch to clear any remaining stiffness in your limbs. When the time comes for you to get ready, a guard calls for you. Without hesitation, you follow them. You’re led through many floors and into an elevator where you go up into the facility. You know that this is your first time outside in years, but you crush any excitement inside you. At the end of the day, you’ll always be a weapon. There’s no time for feelings.

Following the lead of your handler, you’re taken to an empty room towards the back of the facility. You’re handed your outfit and some equipment and are told to get changed.

Your boots are black with a soft sole to make moving about quiet and your leather pants tuck comfortably inside of them. The tank top you’re given is plain, but soft, comfortable against your skin. You bend down, sliding small blades into your boots and hook a small concealed gun there too. Next, you strap a belt onto your waist and tie the loose straps around your thighs. You holster two guns, one on each side, and a few knives there too, whilst also hooking a wire on the side. You slip on some leather ties and they reach from the crook of your elbow to wrap across your palm to form long, fingerless gloves. You hook small blades in them and turn to put your jacket on, zipping it up and fastening the straps hanging across your front to tighten across your ribcage. You note that there is a hood on your jacket, but you don’t bother putting it up. You tug the clothing to make it more comfortable, then you step out of the room.

The whole affair took under three minutes; quick, easy and efficient, the way you were trained to be. The guard looks at you as you emerge and you nod in confirmation. A dark sack is placed over your head and handcuffs clasp around your wrists before you’re taken out of the facility.

It’s time to go.

* * *

You hide in the shade of a building, the Dallas heat is like an unyielding pressure against your skin. Your outfit clings to you tightly and whilst your dark clothes hide you better, they heat you up more too. You wipe some dripping sweat off of your forehead and observe the surrounding area. It’s midday in Texas and you barely arrived an hour ago. You have approximately twenty hours to find a decent place to take a shot _and_ get to your destination. You’ve been left by yourself at a random place in Dallas, and your tracks are being tailed by the HYDRA agents that are assigned to you. Your best guess is that they want to know if you’re capable of executing a mission efficiently by yourself. _Or, alternatively, they're checking that I won't run away. I don't know why they think I would._

You’re walking from the far left side of Dallas to somewhere called Dealey Plaza. There should be some decent buildings that you can take a shot from covertly. Once you’d gotten over the initial shock of seeing the blue, blue sky and the bustling people in towns, you’d been triggered by your handlers and were given orders and exact locations. A little part of your still awed at seeing the skies and birds. At first, you’d wanted to cry; your first thought was _it’s been so long,_ and it has. It’s been years since you’ve been outside and a gut feeling tells you that so much has changed that you’re unaware of.

But with HYDRA, there’s no time for feelings.

With a resigned sigh, you heave yourself off of the wall you’re leaning on and push to carry on to your destination. Having never been in this area before, you’re not completely certain of where you’re going, but you know your destination. You calculate the amount of time it will take you to get to your destination. _Roughly… six hours?_ You lick your drying lips as you step out into the sun and start walking in the correct direction. _Good,_ you think. _That’s perfect; this way I can figure out a good spot in the dark._ You set yourself a steady pace. The scalding heat is a foreign sensation; not being used to is makes it harder to not tire out so quickly. Somehow, your programming forces you to push on regardless.

You’re not even halfway and your throat is scratchy with dehydration. You use this as motivation to continue your mission faster. The faster you get to the destination, the faster you can get adequate rest, shelter and if you're lucky, drink. Maybe even food.

The nature around you is calming. Around mid-afternoon, you’re roughly three-quarters of the way to your destination. Stopping for a short break, you take shelter under some trees in a park. There’s a slightly battered sign that says _“Trinity River Park, Enjoy your stay!”_ . A few people walk past, happily muttering and chatting with their family and friends. You stay hidden in the shadows but can’t help the slight fascination at seeing people, _real people_ that aren’t anything to do with HYDRA. It feels so... surreal. Coming down to the park was a big risk as you’re down in a more public area, but you need a rest from all of your travelling and plus the shelter is very much appreciated. Plus you’re incredibly curious.

At some point, your eyes settle on the water flowing steadily by in the river. As you breathe you can feel how your mouth and throat are sandpaper dry. You stare at the water, eyes filled with longing and a crushed hope. You wish for nothing more than to just leap into the water. The heat in Dallas is almost overwhelming to your senses, having not been too exposed to weather for a long while. Wrapped up in your cocoon of lost wishes, you don’t stop to think of people wandering over near you. You feel a tug on the left of your jacket.

Simultaneously slipping a blade out of your sleeve and twirling around, you press the blade to the head of the person to your side. You freeze up, though, when you see a child’s eyes gazing at you in fear. Hastily, you retract your blade and slide it back up your sleeve into your glove. You stare at the child with wide eyes, who stares back at you with a similarly freaked out expression.

“M-ma’am, are you a-alright?” His voice is shaky but polite. You nod, a fast jerk of the head. You harden your expression at the child, who backs away and runs off to their family. Feeling on edge, you slink your way back to the track you were on before you stopped for a break. You can’t shake the panicked feeling you’re experiencing. Frenzied, you break out into a sprint.

Two things are happening for you.

One, you feel a twist of familiarity. A friend… you recall a memory you once had of them a few years back. She… she had a child, a young boy. Flashes of smiles, toothy grins and blond hair with cheeky green eyes shoot through your brain, making you panic all the more.

Because second of all, you’re not allowed to _feel_. You know that as soon as your handler recognises that you’ve reacted to something, something awful will happen. You can’t recall exactly what will happen, but you’re one hundred percent convinced that it’s not going to be positive.

You pant shallowly from exertion and fear. Without water and food running for a long time is harder, especially at the speeds you’ve been trained to run at. Someone you knew… her name was ... _Ivy? Ivonna? Ella? Elena?_ Something like that… but you know that she trained you well. Very well indeed. You’ve been taught how to endure circumstances such as this, so the fatigue in your limbs is a tiny amount.

You run for roughly thirty minutes until you reach the edge of the district you’re meant to be. The sun is starting to set now. You’re unable to hide the wonder in your eyes when you see the beautiful sky glowing red. You don’t allow yourself to watch the sky for long, though. You spy some kind of clock tower and see it’s around five in the evening. You have a few hours to kill before it’s dark and the nightlife begins. You find an alley and settle down, waiting for your time to move.

* * *

Feeling more empowered in the dark, you finally make your move. It barely takes you two minutes to locate a few decent buildings to shoot at the target. You move your jaw around, clicking it. You need to find something to drink first because the heat is making you parched, but you’ll need to go somewhere more public to get one. Your earpiece has a speaker on the corner near your mouth, but in order to not freak people out, you’ll need to mouth the words you’re going to say when you talk.

Anxiously taking a breath, you square your shoulders and walk into a nearby nightclub. You’re hit with the sound of upbeat jazz music. It vibrates through you as you take in your surroundings. There’s a huge dance floor with loads of couples twirling each other around and partying. A stage is to your right where there are a group of singers and a bunch of tables dotted around. To your left is a bar. You decide to start there. You slide into a chair with feigned indifference.

“What can I get y’all, darlin’?” You look over to the man at the bar. He has incredibly short hair slicked back over his head and a large rounded nose. The man doesn’t stand out too much from the other locals, it seems. As you take in his appearance, he adds, “Fancy piece of jewellery you got there.” He gestures to your silvered mouthpiece. You put on a smile.

“Water would be nice,” you say casually. It feels weird moving your mouth in time to your speaker. He raises an eyebrow at your order. You couldn’t care less, you’re going to collapse from thirst soon if you don’t drink. When he returns, he slides the glass over to you. “Thanks,” you mumble with a dazzling smile. He flashes one back.

“So what's a lovely lady like you doing at a place like this?” You stare at him innocently and take a sip from your water. “Are ya here to see the ol’ pres’ tomorrow?” You have no idea what he's talking about but you smile and nod.

“Thought it'd be nice to get out the house and make a day of it.” He smiles at you words and nods.

“Hey, Ruby! Jack Ruby!” The man jolts and turns to the person calling his name. He excuses himself and goes to talk to the person. You watch him go, curious about his life and the many other lives around you. You wonder what it must be like to live without HYDRA. HYDRA is organisation; HYDRA is clarity and structure and you wonder how people are living without all that. You frown at a laughing lady as she dances with a man. _They seem to all be doing just fine._

You shake your head and leave the nightclub before you can think too much about it.

* * *

During the night you rest. You don’t sleep and you’re trained to be on high alert, but you feel better than you did after a short rest. You come out of your hiding spot in an alley and decide to explore the area out of curiosity. Dallas seems to be surprisingly full of life at night and the sounds of cars driving by and people chatting you find quite soothing to the silence you’re used to. You analyse everything about the few blocks that you walk around and take in the buildings, the nightlife, the lights or lack thereof, but most of all, you take in the sky. It looks amazing. It’s incredibly clear tonight and the stars shine gently. It's almost like someone has thrown glitter at the sky.

You want to get sent on more missions because you forgot that there was a world outside the facility and you just want to see more of it. You know it’s silly to have thoughts like this because at the end of the day it doesn’t matter what you want or crave. HYDRA always tells you what to do and you always have to do it. You take one final look at the sky before forcing yourself to stop looking.

Heading back to the building that you’ve picked as your sniper's nest, you check that no cameras or people are around to see you and before crouching down and picking the lock at the building's entrance. Once you’re in, you shut the door and spend a few minutes locking it again. _It’s so much goddamn harder to lock a door._ On the second try, you manage it. You’re not impressed, though. _I can do better._

Weaving through corridors and dodging any cameras, you steadily make your way up to the floors. You check each set of windows on each floor. When you get to floor six, you decide that the height is good enough to take a shot from. You check floor seven’s window, but it’s just a tad too high. You need to get this perfectly in one clean shot. _Floor six it is then._

When you’re up there, you clear away some boxes, creating a pile against a wall and stacking a few up next to the windows to stop others from noticing you from outside and to also rest your gun on. Annoyingly, you weren’t given a long barreled gun or a rifle to use. This frustrates you, but you know that this must be some kind of test. _I’ve got to get this right._ As morning arrives, you’re still moving around, double checking every single thing. _Are the boxes stable? Check. How many steps does it take to get from each side of the room… one, two, three… five. Five large strides. So check. Guns loaded? Check. Safety off? Check._

An hour or so before noon, you hear a noise. Immediately, you slink over to the large stack of boxes and crouch behind a pile. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, focusing your enhanced senses. There’s a click as the door to the room closes. You listen to the breathing. The breaths aren’t too heavy, so you assess that the person is fairly slim. Footsteps echo quietly and you hear shoes scuffle on the floor. The heavy placement of the footsteps tells you that the other occupant is a male. The grunt he gives as he drops a case down onto the floor confirms that. You open your eyes and lean over slightly until you can just about see him. _He’s got a gun._

You watch him assemble the stand and place the gun upon it from one of the windows. He loads the gun and turns off the safety. As he moves to the side, you get to see the gun. It’s a rifle. It has a long barrel. _God fucking dammit. He’s got a better gun than me._ You pout. _What a jerk._ You see the male check his watch. You frown in thought. _Has he got the same target as me? The hell?_ You know one thing for certain; you can’t let him take the shot. This is your first proper mission and you’re damn well going to complete it.

You wait until he has his back turned before you start to move towards him. Thankfully your boots have soft soles on them so your movements are silent. _Perfect for a sneaky attack on an unsuspecting victim_ … As you near him you unhook the wire from your belt and crouch down, poised to leap. You inhale through your nose, then you jump onto his back. _Holy- he's tall as hell!_

You wrap the wire around his throat and pull as he struggles. He makes some gross choking sounds and tips over onto the floor. You don't move and take the impact, the vibranium taking the worst of the hit. Your skin still stings, though. You wrap your legs around him to keep him from struggling too much and, relentlessly, you pull at the wire until the man passes out. _Well, that was easy._ You push the man off of you and sit up, rolling him onto his back and tying his hands together with the wire. You secure the knot and then check out his rifle.

There's some kind of clip at the top which tells you something is missing. You trot over to the case and dig around until you find a telescope. You look over at the rifle and preen. _Oh man, it has telescopic vision. Today is my lucky day._ You head back to the rifle and secure the telescope on top. Next, you check the bullets. It's safe to say that they're not Russian, so if you took this shot with the rifle the investigators will think it was an American who shot the guy. _Sweet._

You look over to the figure of the man on the floor. _I could frame him too. That would get him out of the way and then I don't have to kill him._ Killing people was part of your more advanced training and you absolutely hated doing it. Especially when you had to hurt innocent people. With HYDRA you don't get a choice, though. You make this decision for yourself. _I'm not going to kill you._

You wait for what feels like an age before people start to buzz around the streets in excitement. You don't know who your target is, but you know what they look like and that they're important in America. So your best guess is that he's the one attracting the crowd. You keep your eyes alert just in case he's not, though.

There is a shift and a groan as the other occupant stirs. You choose to ignore him, but your heightened awareness enables you to check that he's not sneaking up on you. You can hear him trying to loosen the knot around his wrists and you smirk to yourself. _There's no way you'll get that undone._ When you do turn to look at him, his eyes widen, then narrow.

“So you're not the feds. What are ya plannin’ to do with my gun? Here to shoot the pres?” You frown. _That's twice someone has mentioned the “pres”. Who the hell am I shooting?_ “Because if you're not shooting him then you'll have to untie me, darlin’.” You turn away to look at the streets again, not bothering with the man any longer. Occasionally, you hear him shuffle around, trying to untie himself but other than that he says nothing more. When you hear him get to his feet, you get up and knock him down to the floor again. You grab his head and smack it onto the floor, knocking him out.

You wait and wait and wait until people start to cheer and shout. You take your position and watch to see a car slowly making its way down the road in the middle of the crowd. Your target is sat at the back. You know the safety is already off, so you take aim then and there. Your hands are shaking gently, a mixture of nerves and fatigue. _I know I can do this._

The car passes some kind of sign and you inhale and you aim. You exhale and fire. You hit the target in the chest an quickly spot that someone leaps forward to protect him. Without a pause of hesitation, you shoot them and they fall out of the way. You fire one more bullet which hits the target square in the head, killing him instantly. As you retract from the window, people scream. You feel nothing but an insane buzz of adrenaline as you pack up the gun and the stand. You kick the man on the floor and he makes a noise of protest. You untie him as he wakes up.

“The hell, lady?” You pack up his gun as he becomes more conscious and take an extra pistol that he had stored and shove the case into his hands, throwing him the pistol on top of that. You get out your gun as he stand up and you press it to the base of his skull.

“Move.”

He licks his lips anxiously. “What do you need me to do?”

“Leave the building. I'll be watching and I'll shoot you if you don't.” He nods and proceeds to the door. You hide when he finally exits the building through the front door. You hear people threatening him and you hear the sound of a gun going off.

Taking that as a cue, you run to the other side of the building and check that nobody can see you. Then, you slip out of a window on the ground floor and shut it behind you. Amongst the panic and frenzy, you're unnoticeable. Using this to your advantage, you slip through crowd with ease to meet your handlers at the rendezvous point.

As you wait at the pickup point in an alley, the adrenaline starts to wear off. Your intense focus starts to weaken and shift. You shudder as you think about how you just killed two people with shots that you fired. Your legs feel a little shaky and your head feels a bit dizzy, but you think that could be to do with the fact that you haven't eaten or drunk enough. You shake your head and lean against a wall, trying to think about other things than your mission.

You’re still a little on edge after seeing that child in the park. Some part of you can’t seem to comprehend how there are so many people in the world that are so oblivious to who you are. You don’t know what year it is exactly, but a fragment of you wonders if you still have family around or perhaps friends. You play with the idea for a while. _I wonder if they think about me…_

A cool breeze wafts through the alley and chills your metallic earpiece, but you don’t retract it because you know your handler will be here soon. Earlier, you were cursing your dark, hot clothes, but now you’re grateful for them because they help you hide better and they keep your body temperature even in the cold air. You hear footsteps nearby and you push off of the wall to stand up properly.

“Доклад миссии.” _(Dok-lad meesee.) Mission report._ You tell them that you completed the mission and dealt with anything else that came up. They listen and someone barks something to one of the agents. “Идите прямо.” _(Ee-dee-tee pree-ya-ma.) Go straight ahead._ You don’t bother nodding, you just comply. You’re loaded into a van and the doors are shut and that’s the end of that.

* * *

The next time you awaken from stasis, you’re immediately escorted to the laboratory to have your technology touched up. Zola looks tired and really ill, but he thanks you. At first, you’re confused but then he says to you that studying your brain has enabled him to become immortal. You look at him with curiosity as he explains that he will be uploading his brain onto some kind of computer. These are the last things that Zola tells you before you never see him again.

* * *

This time, when you wake up, you feel less stiff than usual. _I guess HYDRA has updated their defrosting equipment_ , you think dryly. You’re taken for the first time in decades to see Winter. He’s already in the training room when you walk in. He turns to look at you and you spot a recognition in his eyes. By now, you know what they do to him, how they brainwash him. You can’t recall having seen HYDRA wipe his memories away, but you know exactly how the machine works. You get a foreign happy tingle, though, when you realise he’s recognised you. The guards leave and the door shuts.

“Long time no see,” you say casually as you walk over to him. Your voice has considerably improved and sounds much more realistic now that it was years ago. Winter nods at you.

“Likewise.” He gestures to the mat. “Shall we?” You grin like a shark.

“Lets.” As soon as you’re both on the mat, he takes a swing at you. You duck and swing a leg up and smack him in the back. Swiftly, you switch legs and kick him in the abdomen before he can react. A fist flies in your direction and you narrowly dodge it. His metal one swings up and you use that moment to get close to him and knee him in the privates. He elbows your face to knock you off balance. You’re not going down easily, though. You grab his hand and swing between his parted legs, using your weight for momentum. You swirl around and knock his feet from under him. He rolls expertly, turning to face you in a crouched position. You mirror it. He leaps for you and you roll backwards onto your shoulders, trapping his head between your thighs. Using your advantage as quickly as you can, you rotate the pair of you over so he’s beneath you. However, he seems to know that’s what you plan to do. So instead of lying on his back in a trapped position, he keeps on rolling you until _you’re_ trapped. You grimace as he traps you onto the floor. He flashes you a quick, small smile.

“You’ve improved.” You huff.

“I’m clearly not the best yet.” He smirks and lets you up.

You spend the rest of your time sparring. Overall, you’re quite proud of yourself; you manage to pin Winter down twice. It may only be twice out of seven times, but nonetheless, you’re still impressed. Guards come in later and inform you both of what’s going to happen. Apparently, you’re both going to be transferred to a base run by the KGB called the Red Room Academy. You’ll both be training some Black Widow candidates and the strongest, most efficient candidate will be elected as Russia’s top assassin.

You feel a spark of thrill at being allowed to train others; it means your handlers and the heads of HYDRA value your skill as an asset. You straighten your spine, a silent satisfaction in your eyes as you listen to the guard elaborate on your duties.

Yes, you were going to train the best Black Widow. And nothing is going to stop you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So then. As most of you know, I’ve been taking part in a four week business/activity course. Part of week three involves creating an action plan to raise money and awareness for an issue that needs addressing. As part of my action plan, I am helping a charity called the DVIP who help victims who suffer from domestic violence. The majority of you don’t know this, but I have my own experiences with abuse and I can say with clarity that it can really, really mess a person up.
> 
> I’m going to be raising money by doing writing and art commissions. If you guys want to give me a prompt, I will write a story for you at £1 per page. If I reach £10 within the next few days, I'll post another chapter of this fic for everyone as a thank you. Alternatively, I can create a digital avatar for you for £5. (Some of my artwork can be found [here](http://the-winter-buckaroo.tumblr.com/post/146860494351/i-did-a-quick-sketch-of-what-i-think-elena-looks)). If some of you wish to do this and support my cause, please drop me a message and I can discuss with you what happens next.
> 
> If you could also like the Facebook page that my group and I have set up, we would be extremely grateful. You can find the page [here](https://www.facebook.com/sticksandstonesNCS/?fref=ts).
> 
> Please help me out guys, this issue is really close to my heart and it would mean a lot to me if you guys could support me while I do this. I’ll only be doing this for two weeks, so please, if you’re interested please drop me a message on here, or on [my tumblr account](http://the-winter-buckaroo.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you guys, I love you all!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much to all those who have PM'ed me, have sent me messages and have donated to help me raise money for the DVIP! Overall me and my group raised £967.56 :)

Things start with a bang.

Literally. There are literally guns being fired around the Red Room.

You and Winter stand, arms crossed and observing the girls as they practice firing their rounds. They’re standing in order of age, you think. The oldest looking one is on the left, the youngest and smallest on the right. Each girl looks absolutely flawless; perfectly round faces, perfect frames. Not only are their physical features on point, but even their actions are too. You’re pretty sure that they’re all a similar age - somewhere between fifteen and twenty. You’ve been here roughly around a month. It’s odd training the girls like Winter did for you so long ago. You feel this weird urge to ensure that each of the girls can do their activities to their very best.

The consequence of not doing well… isn’t very nice.

You’ve been trained well; nothing shows on your face but a blank expression as the trainees are violently beaten down for their mistakes. From what you can see, there’s only two men in the entire facility: Winter and some other male called Niko. Niko is apparently another trainee, the only boy to be trained in the Red Room. Winter, the lucky man, has to train him. He hates the guy, which you find a little amusing. It’s even funnier that Niko hates him back.

The pair of you don’t actually talk much, but you’ve developed some kind of unspoken communication having done so much work together. Winter always has this semi-grumpy expression on his face after a training session with Niko. You’ve noticed that he’s a lot more snappy too. You’re trying to find inventive ways of calming Winter down; the most effective one seems to be giving him a massage around the back of his neck. You’ve noticed more and more that when you’re both alone he seems to let himself smile a little. Not just with his mouth, but with his eyes too. It’s nice. You like it. A foreign feeling curls within you, something akin to happiness. If you were honest with yourself, that’s not a feeling you’re used to, let alone allowed to feel.

Standing and watching the girls is dull and incredibly unstimulating. It’s better than being in that blasted room where the bed is too small, however. You don’t know how the girls live in those large rooms, handcuffed to their beds each night. They must be used to it.  _ Not that that’s a good thing. _

An activity that you find intriguing is watching the girls load and unload guns blindfolded. They sit in a row on a long bench, parts and pieces of guns littered around in front of them. You’ve already been trained how to do this, but you’ve never considered what it would be like watching others do it. It’s quite fascinating. When you learnt to do it, though, you did it alone. You weren’t trained around others. Here in the Red Room, it’s some kind of contest. The girl who finishes first shouts out and everybody stops. The fastest time here is forty-three seconds.  _ I can do faster than that. _ You suppose that’s why you’re here. To make those weaker than you stronger.

At the moment, Winter’s only allowed to train Niko. You, however, have been given several girls to train. A lot of them puff their chests out and listen to every instruction you tell them. It’s all a façade. You can see that underneath their confidence is a layer of fear. As a result, some of them are sometimes sloppy with their movements. It leaves you incredibly frustrated, but you don’t want to be the one that hurts them. You’re not trained to be parental, you’re trained to get the mission done. Still… they’re just girls.

None of them have their own personality. They’re all treated the same, all trained the same and therefore, they’re all the same. It’s only their looks that vary. If it wasn’t for the varying facial structures and shade of hair, you’d think they were all clones.

You leave each training session with almost no bruises. That starts to change the more skilled your trainees become. Within the first week, most of them are able to at least hit you in some way, even if it barely does any damage.

During your second month, you finally get to meet Niko.

You can see why Winter dislikes the kid so much; he’s reckless and not very easy to control. He is, however, very effective when he knows what he’s doing. You and Winter swap places for the month. He trains the girls and you teach Niko. If one thing is very clear, Niko is an incredibly fast learner. You teach him knife skills as you’re now an expert yourself. He seems to like flipping and toying with knives, his smiles sharp and deadly as the very weapon itself. You kind of like Niko, but you’ll never tell Winter that.

About halfway through your second month at the facility, you and Winter start to talk more. You both discuss your progress with each of the trainees and tactics on how to get them to improve. It’s not often, but sometimes you ask Winter for advice on how to train them properly, having never trained people before. Whenever you ask there’s a soft smile on his face. You don’t know what it means.

The pair of you also spar a lot in your spare time. It’s safe to say that you’re getting better. Teaching the girls must be helping you out. This week you’ve managed to floor Winter almost fifty percent of the time you’ve been sparring. Last time you floored him, he laughed. It was such a foreign sound, echoing throughout the room. It startled him just as much as it startled you. It hasn’t happened since, but he’s smiling a lot more. You’ve started doing everything that you can to ensure that his laugh happens again.

A thing you’ve noticed is that the Red Room doesn’t have so many cameras around as the last facility did. The room you and Winter spar is one of the ones that doesn’t have one in.  _ I guess that’s why he lets his mask drop a little. _ It’s also become a common thing to go into the training room and just lay there on the floor together, doing nothing but being in each other’s presence. It’s not your line of work to be friendly but… you just are. It feels natural. On the rare occasions that you do talk properly, Winter shares some things that he remembers. Memories from his cloudy past. A scrawny punk, drinking and laughing with wartime friends, dancing with dames. They’re all hazy to him, and that frustrates him. You understand the feeling.

“Do you remember what dances you used to do?” You question, your mouthpiece sounding no different to a regular voice. Winter hums in thought and shakes his head. You frown up at the ceiling, thinking.  _ What helps trigger a memory… _ “Well,” you drawl, “if you’ve danced a lot, you can probably recall it better using muscle memory more than hurting your head trying to remember.”

“I guess,” is Winter’s absent reply. He huffs and stands, offering you a hand up. You look at it questionably. “Well I ain’t gonna dance by myself, am I?” You try not to smile, but you can’t suppress a twitch at the corner of your mouth. Every now and then, Winter’s sophisticated tone slips into something more relaxed. His accent occasionally breaks into some kind of eastern American one. You find you quite like the sound of it. His accent changes only when you both speak English, you’ve noticed. Sometimes you talk in different languages, but the most common one you talk in is English. It feels so familiar to the pair of you, so easy.

With fake exasperation, you accept his metal hand and he heaves you up. At first, you both stand there awkwardly. You raise an eyebrow at him as he pauses, not knowing what to do. “Maybe hum something if that helps,” you say quietly. He nods and does nothing for a few moments. Then, he sighs, avoiding your gaze as he starts to hum something soft and slow. A rouge colour tints his cheeks and you feel a coil of amusement at that.  _ Somebody’s embarrassed, _ you think fondly with a smile lighting up in your eyes. Winter takes your right hand with his metal one, placing his other on your hip. You place your free hand on his shoulder.

You don’t recall ever dancing, but something feels familiar about it.

Winter starts off with some kind of slow dance as he hums a tune.  _ Some kind of waltz, _ you think. You’re not entirely sure what a waltz is, but you just roll with the thought. The pair of you move around together in some kind of imaginary box, repeating the same steps in various different ways in an imaginary square. The longer you move around for, the faster your steps become. Soon you’re both chuckling as Winter twirls you and a startled noise comes out of your mouthpiece. He spins you once more before catching you again. You don’t know how you remember all this crazy footwork, but you don’t think about it much. For the first time in decades, you’re both actually having some kind of  _ fun _ . You forgot that the feeling even existed.

You dance around for God knows how long. At one point you step on his foot accidentally and it catches him by surprise. You feel giddy as you laugh and you feel a thrill rush through you when Winter joins in as well. Eventually, you both slow down your movements to a casual sway here and there. You almost flinch when he places his mouth next to your ear, but you relax when you realise that he only wants to say something to you.

“You scare me,” he admits, hiding his face from you. A frown creases between your brows, but it evens out again after a few seconds as you become curious.

“Why?” You ask, no hesitation in your tone. After a few moments, he pulls back, his eyes flicking between yours.  _ Strange, _ you think.  _ There’s fear in his eyes. _ His ever growing mop of hair falls down to frame his face, tickling your cheeks as you look up at him. It creates a secretive feeling as though the room is full of people and yet his words are just for you.

“Because I tell you things that I can’t even tell myself,” Winter whispers quietly. He licks his lips and breathes shallowly as if he’s scared of what he’s saying. “Have you ever thought… of getting away?” Your eyes turn sharper at this. The frown returns to your face at full force.  _ I… no. _ You don’t remember thinking about escaping any more than once, possibly twice. A feeling of unease settles in your stomach.  _ Is it normal to just accept that this is my life? Or is it preprogrammed? _ You can feel a headache developing. Headaches aren’t really a foreign feeling to you, but this particular one adds to your growing anxiety.

“Why do you ask?” You say, tight resignation in your voice. Winter just shakes his head slightly.

“I- I don’t really know. It’s… wrong. I’m not programmed to be  _ human. _ ” He spits, his breaths harsh. “Just being with you… it brings things back. Memories. Feelings. When I’m with you I just want to escape from this place and take you with me.” He closes his eyes. “The thing is, I don’t know what’s outside of… all this.” He gestures to the room. “I don’t know how to… to live a  _ life _ .” You both stopped dancing a while ago now, but you’re still standing close to one another. You can feel the weight of the emotion on Winter’s voice as he speaks. Emotion he’s not meant to have.

A part of you wants to tell him to stop all of this. It’s not what you’re programmed to do. The other part of you actively encourages it, though. That’s the part that wins.

“Well… we’ve seen what it looks like outside,” you wave a hand a little in a vague gesture. “I’ll admit that it’s… odd to see  _ people _ ,” you say the word with disbelief, “but maybe we could try and live.” You rub your temples, your head foggy. “I don’t remember anything outside of orders, though. I think last time that I tried to get out they put me in the chair.” Winter stiffens, so you pick up his hands comfortingly and squeeze them. He squeezes back. You’ve seen them put Winter in the chair before. It’s a horrible sight. One of the worst things is that they do it so often. Occasionally you’ve had to remind him of a few things after they’d wiped him and the entire experience is painful for the both of you. “I’m not compatible with it, though. I don’t think they’ll use it on me again unless something really awful happens.” Winter sighs deeply.

“Let’s see what happens,” he says. You nod. It seems like the only thing to do right now.

* * *

Knowing and seeing are completely different things. You’ve always registered the fact that the Red Room trained girls from the get go. Nevertheless, you’re shocked.

Standing in front of you is a six-year-old girl. A faint plum colour curls around her striking blue eyes, indicating that she’s had sleep, but not enough. Her posture is straight and rigid, her hands hidden behind her back as if she’s waiting for permission to move. The curly blonde hair frames her rounded face, too short to tie up.

She looks like a delicate china doll.

When the woman said you were to be training a potential Black Widow candidate, you had no idea that she would be so small. You’re lost for a moment, you don’t know what to do.  _ She’s just a child... _ You walk to stand in front of her, noticing that she stiffens when you do so. Crouching down to her level, you try to break the ice a little bit.

“What’s your name?” You say fluently in Russian. The girl seems to lift her chin at this, puffing her chest out to show that she’s proud of who she is.

“Yelena Belova, miss.” Your eyes flick between hers, but she stares right back at you without breaking or flinching under your gaze. You nod and stand.

No matter how small the girl is, you’ve been given a task. There’s no point dwelling; it’s time to get started.

* * *

“Clean yourself up,” the woman snaps, throwing a bundle of things at you. Luckily, you’ve been trained to have fast reflexes, so you catch it before anything tumbles out. You settle the bundle of items in the crook of your arm as you watch the woman slam the door shut.  _ Well, she’s clearly not having a good day. _ You turn to look down at Yelena who looks up at you with wide, adoring eyes. Over the week, it would seem the child has become quite eager to please you; she always tries her hardest to improve so that you will compliment her. You give her a small smile and her eyes brighten up a bit. You trail off in the direction of the shower rooms with the girl trotting at your side.

You’ve been told to always keep the candidates within your peripheral vision and not let them out of sight. With a sigh, you realise,  _ I’m going to have to take a shower with a six-year-old. _ You frown, not quite happy about this. Luckily for you, the shower stalls aren’t too small.  _ Yay, _ you think bitterly, rolling your eyes.

You open the makeshift towel bundle to see that inside there is some soap and… a tub of something. You frown at it before shrugging and moving to the side of the room where there are fresh clothes for you both. You bring them over and pick up the tub, your eyebrows raising in surprise.  _ Waxing equipment. _ You huff in amusement,  _ good, I could do with waxing. _ You strip and the girl does too. Picking up the soap and making sure the girl follows you, you enter the shower stall and turn on the water. The spray has a wide range, so neither of you have to wait awkwardly while the other washes. You use the soap and work up a nice lather before passing it to Yelena. She takes it with a quiet, “Спосибо,” and quickly creates her own lather. You wash and by the time you’re done, Yelena is finished with the soap. You take it off of her.

“Would you like me to do your hair?” The girl looks up at you a little shyly and nods. You crouch down and rub the soap in your hands before placing it on the shelf provided in the shower. Gently, you massage the soap into her hair. It’s a strangely relaxing process but it doesn’t take too long before it’s all done and Yelena washes it out. By the time you’re both finished, the water is still running. HYDRA and the KGB provide military-style showers where the water cuts off after a time limit. You both make the most of the water that’s left before it squeaks and the water shuts off.

You guide the girl out and hand her a towel to dry herself off and you do the same. Immediately after, you get changed and hand over the little girls clothes. You take the towel off of her so that she can get changed as you towel her hair dry.

_ It’s strange, _ you think,  _ how easy it is for me to care for someone or something that I spend time with. _ It could be because Yelena is so young, but you’ve developed some kind of connection with her. Training the other girls who were a lot older, you noticed their hesitation and their worry about getting things wrong. Yelena, though… Yelena’s different. She has a fierce determination that the other distinctly lack.  _ Which is amazing, because she’s so young. _ When you look at her, you know that she will be the best Black Widow there ever was.

* * *

It’s at least another three weeks until you see Winter again. In order to train young Yelena, you had to move to a different area of the facility. There’s a week’s break that you’ve got from training her whilst another woman teaches her something or another.  _ I don’t know, I don’t exactly ask details. _ For now, you’ve been instructed to continue training the girls that you started with and of course, Niko Constantin.

Winter seems impassive when you first see him again, only inclining his head in acknowledgement of your presence. He waits for you to walk up next to him in the corridors, then walks in step with you to go to your usual training room. You slide your finger over your earpiece to activate it as you walk, making it slide across your jaw into a mouthpiece. It’s only when the door shuts in the training room that he first speaks.

“It’s good to see you,” he speaks in English. You nod at him.

“Likewise.” You walk past him and onto the training mats and he follows you. It feels foreign and odd speaking English after speaking in Russian for so long. “How’s training going?” You question lightly, in conversation. Just expecting an  _ “It’s going good,”  _ or something of the like, you’re a little surprised by the full blown answer he gives.

“Most of the girls are doing well with their training. I can see why you might have a problem with some of them, they don’t all push themselves enough. There is this one girl, though. Natalia; Natalia Romanova. She’s very skilled and a fast learner.” You blink in surprise at the  _ fondness _ in his voice. “You should see her, you’d like her.”  _ Really? I think I dislike her already.  _ Your mouth twitches and your mind taunts you.  _ Is that a stab of jealousy? I think that’s a stab of jealousy. _

“Oh yeah?” You say, disinterest in your tone. Winter stops in front of you with a curt nod. “You should meet Yelena Belova.” He quirks an eyebrow. You look him in the eyes, a dark smile curling at your lips. “She’s six, but she’s better than any other girl in the Red Room.” And with that, you throw a punch.

Your fist catches his jaw as you swing your knee up and get him in the gut. Winter seems mildly surprised, but he recovers incredibly fast, swinging a fist at you in return. “I’ll have to fight her,” you grunt out, ducking under one of his arms. “When you think she’s good enough, that is.” There’s a noise of agreement from Winter as he turns to floor you. He misses and you use that opportunity to pounce, swinging yourself up on him, wrapping your thighs around his throat. The look on his face is a little comical, he clearly hasn’t seen you make that move before. He spins around, struggling to push you off and almost overbalancing himself. He tries changing tactics, but you think you’ve got him. You throw your weight to knock him off balance and it works! He slips to the floor and you let go of him, spinning yourself to land on your palms and then rolling out of Winter’s way as he hits the mat. Standing, you poke his flesh shoulder with the toe of your boot. “Getting sloppy,” you mock, smirking. He huffs. That’s what he used to say to you on some training days.

“Neat move,” he admits, rolling up to stand. You cock your head to the side, observing him.

“You’re distracted.” His eyes lock with yours for a moment, holding your judging gaze.

“I... It’s… prob’ly nothin’.” You narrow your eyes, the unspoken  _ go on _ in your look. He pouts in consideration for a moment. A hand rubs the nape of his neck anxiously, making your eyes narrow further.  _ A nervous tick? He’s never done that before. _ “It’s just that…” He pauses again and sighs. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Just say it.”

And he does.

“Natalia… she triggered a memory. My name… it’s James.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My updates will be more infrequent from now on, as I'm exhausted and have no energy at the moment. I will try and even out my updates though. Thank you all for your love and patience!


	13. Chapter 13

_“James,” he mumbles. You look up at him, not able to say anything. Your mouthpiece has been taken by some scientists who want to make it better, faster, and more efficient. His eyes suddenly snap up to yours, the intense blue-grey orbs boring into your eyes. Winter looks pale, too pale, as he staggers, clutching his forehead. You don’t have your blackboard with you either which is incredibly inconvenient. “James,” he repeats. You step directly in front of him and reach up to cup his face. Your eyes flick between his before you move your palm to tuck some of his hair out of his face. You tilt your head, your expression laced with a mixture of curiosity and worry._

‘What’s wrong?’ _you mouth at him._

 _“James,” he says, voice thick with pain. “My name is James.” Your eyes widen at this realisation, then your mouth breaks into a tender smile._ That’s a nice name, _you think fondly._ It suits you. _Your hand slides up to his shoulder to squeeze it gently. As much as you want to talk about it, you can’t. You’re aware that there are cameras around too; there’s always someone watching._

‘Training,’ _you mouth._ ‘Cameras.’ _He takes a moment, heaving a deep breath and sighing, closing his eyes. When he opens them, they’re clearer, less hazed with his past. He nods and you nod too, stepping back to continue with where you left off._

* * *

 You groan in pain, curling up instinctively, your arms cradling your head. You feel like you’re lying down, but the floor feels too soft. _Maybe the mats? Maybe Winter knocked me out again._ A warm hand is gently massaging the back of your neck. You crack your eyes open to see Winter’s face. You frown. _He looks different, his hair looks too long._ His concerned eyes meet yours briefly.

“You passed out.” You touch your head gingerly. _Must have been a memory then._

“When?”

“Right after I said that my name is James.” You sigh. “It feels familiar,” he mumbles. “It doesn’t feel wrong.” You sigh once more.

“Well, James _is_ your name.” His eyes snap to yours. “I guess I passed out because that triggered a memory.” You rub your head roughly and uncoordinatedly. “I don’t know how long ago it was, but you told me that that was your name during a training session.” You look up to see Winter’s frown.

“I don’t remember.” You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, I wonder why.” He huffs but inclines his head as if to say _‘I see your point’_. Your mouth tugs downward. “If they didn’t want you to remember it, then it’s for a reason. It only ends in pain, believe me.” You heave yourself up off of his lap to sit up by yourself. “Does Natalia know?” You ask, looking over your shoulder at him. Winter shakes his head. “She’s not allowed to talk,” you say harshly. “She’s not allowed to say anything. If she knows, she’s trouble.” Winter frowns at you and shakes his head.

“She’s only a girl,” he says defensively.

“Yeah,” you snap back. “And a Black Widow candidate.” You stand up and look down at Winter who hasn’t bothered to get up yet. “And she’s dangerous, _James._ ” You spit the word distastefully, harshly. “You need to stay away from her.” That’s the moment when he gets up.

“No.” A wave of possessive, protective anger washes over you, fueled by pain and loss and memory.

“You’ll end up hurt! They’ll wipe you again!” You wave your hand angrily. “Just because you haven’t seen a chair in this facility, that doesn’t mean there isn’t one.” Winter flinches and you immediately feel guilty at mentioning the chair so flippantly. “Please,” you plead. “I know you like her but you need to stop talking to her. If she’s triggering your memories then HYDRA will only take them away again!” Winter’s expression is harshly blank and cold when he looks at you. It reminds you of when you first met him. You shudder. “I’m only trying to protect you,” you say quietly, voice laced with loss.

“I don’t need to be protected,” he bites. He turns and walks to the door, exiting. You stand there. Dread builds up inside of you as the door shuts.

At first, you stand there, doing nothing. A strange urge washes over you, telling you to just lay down. You give into it, dropping to the floor and throwing your arms over your face. Tiredness washes over you. With no one around, you don’t see a problem with resting, so you do. It’s better than thinking.

* * *

‘You remind me of someone,’ _you write on your blackboard, turning it for Winter to read. His eyes flick up to yours once he’s finished reading. “Who?” He asks gently, curiously. You’re both standing at the shooting range in the training room. You’re standing in that one section where no cameras can see either of you. It’s a slim range of privacy, but it’s a perfect place for you both to discuss memories without people observing the emotions playing out on either of your faces._ ‘I’m not sure yet,’ _you write, watching his face as he reads it._ ‘There’s something about your eyes, though. They feel familiar.’ _He looks at you then, his gentle puffs of air making you shiver. His eyes gently flip between yours. You stare into his eyes thoughtfully, narrowing yours and leaning in to see them better. There are subtle flecks of light grey and a small spike of hazel around his large pupils._

_Suddenly, his eyes slide shut and his lips are pressed chastely against yours. You inhale in surprise and Winter pulls back, his eyes opening once again, searching yours for any hesitation. You give a breathy exhale and look at him with renewed awe. Your eyes slip shut and you throw your arms around Winter’s neck, pressing your lips forcibly against his. He presses his smooth, yet chapped lips desperately back._

_A tongue pushes between your lips and you suck on it greedily, and Winter makes a pleased noise in his throat. You stay there with him, for hours or for moments. Time seems insignificant right now as you’re wrapped in each other’s arms, savouring a moment together that isn’t forced upon you both._

_You pull back, panting. You crack a grin at Winter and he smiles softly back at you, leaning in to nuzzle your neck with his nose. Your head falls back against the wall and you close your eyes blissfully. Your hand reaches up and you card your fingers through his matted hair, something you’ve wanted to do for a long while. He hums and gently rests his forehead against your neck._

Please, _you think._ If I can’t have anything else… please, just let me have this.

* * *

You’re training that girl, Natalia. She’s fast and nimble on her feet, but she’s clumsy, distracted. Her auburn hair flies around from where it’s tied as she dodges one of your moves, ducking under your legs to attack you from the other side. She goes to hit you but you drop onto your hands in a press up position, swinging your legs around and knocking them from under her. You flip and roll on top of her, your hand over her throat. “Sloppy,” you say. She pants lightly from exertion and waits for you to move off of her. You don’t. Her eyes meet yours carefully, but she says nothing to you, obediently waiting for you to speak first. “Don’t hurt him,” you say quietly in English. Her eyes widen, sharpening in realisation as she translates. “If you hurt him, I _will_ kill you. Understood?” She nods.

“Understood,” she says, her Russian accent thick as she speaks. You let go of her throat and roll over, standing. You offer her a hand up and she takes it hesitantly. “I found your file,” she says cautiously. “Project Shadow.” You freeze in shock. “ _Shadow,”_ a voice echoes in your head. _“We’re going to get you out, Shadow-”._ You jerk back, snarling at Natalia.

“Tread carefully,” you warn coldly. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.” Your throat feels tight with hidden, rising emotion. _What if she knows my name?_ Your eyes bore into hers fiercely and she stares back impassively. The words are on the tip of your tongue, _who am I? What is my name?_ But the fear of the chair grips you in its claws. You don’t remember the last time you were put in the chair, but whatever happened, it wasn’t good. The memories feel as if they’re just at your fingertips, an envelope ready to be opened at a moment’s notice. _I can’t risk this girl’s life._ You don’t like Natalia, but you stand by this thought. _Nor can I risk Winter being hurt, I can’t lose him in that chair and have him forget me again._ You take a deep breath. _And I can’t risk losing myself in that nothingness._ The words press at the front of your brain once more, flicking through the link that connects your thoughts to your earpiece. The words flood through the speaker at your mouth. “If you hurt him,” you repeat, “I _will_ kill you.”

Natalia nods and says nothing more after that.

* * *

_You step out of the shower stall and picking up the soap as you go. Elena looks up at you as you come over to her, her wet hair splashing droplets of water in every direction. You hand her the soap and she hands you a towel._

_“There are no cameras in here,” she says clearly. The words are said so pointedly that you pause whilst drying yourself. You look up to see her steely gaze. “Shadow, I’ve been… thinking.” Your eyes narrow in response, wondering what she could possibly be thinking about. She sighs and picks up her towel to dry her hair better. “You’re the fastest runner now with all of your training. Even with gear on, you’re still faster than the Winter Soldier. So without gear… you’ll fly by and no one will be able to stop you. You’re not the best in combat right now, but you’re not awful. You could take out a few guards…” Her voice trails off and you stand up straighter, watching her very carefully._ What exactly are you saying, Elena?

_She says nothing for a few moments and you don’t move until she notices you’ve stopped and tells you to continue drying yourself. She says nothing else on the matter._

* * *

You’re rough with Natalia on training days, but it’s not because you hate her. You don’t particularly like her all that much, but you know that with the information she knows about you, she’s in a lot of potential danger. You’re mostly doing it for Winter. You teach her lots of new tricks that he would never be able to teach her efficiently to help protect herself better. Thighs, on a woman, are one of the strongest parts of the body. You teach her lots of different ways that she can use them to knock an enemy over, to strangle them, to subdue them. Natalia is cautious around you, somewhat afraid, but she listens well. Sometimes she pretends to fail because she doesn’t want to fight you, though. It frustrates you, but it’s her own fate that she’s sealing because of it.

Winter is quiet around you now. Neither of you spar together unless you’re instructed to give a demonstration to the girls. His eyes occasionally meet yours, a silent communication asking if you’re doing okay, but other than that, it’s almost like the pair of you are back to the beginning again. When Winter said nothing and you were always silent, doing as you were told.

You wish it wasn’t this way. But you’ve learnt with HYDRA, if anything, is that whatever you think you have with someone is really just nothing. HYDRA can take it all away in a heartbeat.

You watch Winter’s back with a sad look in your eyes as he observes the girls sparring with Niko. You feel like he’s slipping through your fingers again; you’re afraid of losing him, of watching him being put in the chair again.

Your eyes settle on Natalia and you can’t help but feel that history will repeat itself; things are going to fall apart and you’re going to have to pick up the broken pieces once more, like many other times.

* * *

_“When we step outside of this door,” she says gently, quietly, “you’re going to run to the lift.” She clicks the safety off of her gun. “I’ll cover you if anybody comes up behind you.” Somehow, Elena managed to get you your suit for missions. The leather is somewhat uncomfortable, sticking to you as you sweat anxiously. “Do you remember the route? All of the codes?” You nod once. “Good. And you have all of your weapons?” You nod once more. “Right, now remember; no lift goes directly up. Each one leads to another room. Don’t get confused. Once you’re up by one floor, Adam will cut the power out but within a minute the backup lights should come on. Make sure you run to the surveillance rooms and disable the team in there and disable the surveillance before the backup power kicks in.” She exhales, a whistling sound of breath through her teeth. “You’re the Shadow. You can do this.”_

_You’re nervous, yes, but you’ve been trained well for events like this. Staying hidden in the darkness of a room is what you were trained to do. You’re called “Winter’s Shadow” for a reason.You look at Elena’s teal coloured eyes, taking in her features and watching her tuck a stray mousey-brown hair behind her ear. Her eyes meet yours. They soften._

_“We’re going to get you out, Shadow, we’re going to get you out.” You detect a well-hidden nervousness in her tone, but you can’t blame her for being scared. She’s sacrificing her work and her life; all for a damaged person who is the daughter that she never had. You pant shallowly._ I can’t mess this up, or Adam and Elena are dead for sure, _you think_ . _You take a deep breath._ So... no pressure then.

 _A warm, shaking hand tenderly touches your cheek and you blink, your eyes flicking back up to Elena. Her sorrowful look breaks what little pieces of your heart are left. She leans forward and kisses your temple. The action reminds you of someone doing the same to you, back when... You frown and shove the thought to the back of your mind._ Now is not the time to freak out over memories.

_“Oh, котенок,” she says, whispering. “I am so proud of you.”_

* * *

“She made a mistake,” the woman says casually. “Beat her.” You freeze and slowly turn your head to the woman. When you do nothing, she raises her eyebrow. “Well?” She tilts her head at you. “If you prefer not to get your hands too dirty, I have a whip. Twelve lashes should suffice as punishment for the girl.” You clench your jaw to stop yourself from gaping. _Twelve lashes?_ She looks at the horror on your face and laughs bitterly. “If you don’t punish them then they won’t learn.” You look down at Yelena. Her eyes are wide, staring up at you. Her pale, shaking fists are twisting her clothes anxiously as she waits for the inevitable punishment. If she was allowed to speak aloud without further punishment, Yelena would be pleading you not to beat her. _It’s inhumane!_ A voice yells in your mind. _It’s abuse!_

“No.” Your voice rings out clear through the mouthpiece. You know what the consequence of not beating her is. You’re willing to take it. You’re willing to do this for Yelena. Your eyes stay staring into her blue ones. It’s strange… she’s got so much willpower for someone so young. The strength of her gaze grounds you, makes you stronger.

“Are you challenging the system?” The woman’s voice is sharp in response. “You know what the consequences are.” You screw you eyes shut and swallow. When you open your eyes to look back at Yelena, you think of the alternative. _There is no alternative. I am not going to hurt her._

“Yes,” you say, finally turning to face the woman. “And I’ll take them.”

* * *

 _Lights are flashing, sirens are blaring as you rush through the corridors. The next lift can’t be that far away. Adam will be with you on the next floor, he said so himself. Elena will be on the floor above._ We’re so close, _you think, determined._ I can do this.

_When you reach the next door, you throw the doors of the lift open and rush out. A gun fires and you leap forward, the bullet just missing you. “I’ll cover you!” The voice makes you start. It’s Adam. You turn to see him shooting and fighting with other agents. “Run!” He shouts, looking at you. You sprint down the corridor to the next lift. Guns are firing rapidly and they suddenly stop. You skid to a halt and turn._

_A group of agents are crowded around a body on the floor, kicking it. You know Adam isn’t going to come with you when the agents turn to deal with you and Adam doesn’t move. For a moment you’re frozen, watching them stalk towards you with weapons raised. You back up towards the lift. You shouldn’t have stopped. You should have left when you had the chance. Taking a risk, you bolt for the lift. Gunfire starts up once more and you hiss through your teeth as a bullet grazes your calf. You haul the lift doors open and shut them as fast as you can. You pull a gun out of your holster and aim for the agents through the gaps in the rail. Your finger strokes the trigger and you hesitate._

_If you pull the trigger and hit the agents… there’s no knowing what punishment you’ll receive._ If they catch me, _you remind yourself. You take a fast, deep breath and pull the trigger, killing as many agents as you can before the lift is too high for you to fire. You feel a sharp twinge of pain in your ribcage and you know that you’ve been hit. It’s the last thing you’re focusing on right now, though. You have priorities. You’re panting, shaking, hyperventilating. You’re not sure if Adam is dead or not, but you don’t think you’ll be seeing him ever again._ He’s sacrificed himself for me, _you think._ I can’t let him down.

_The lift halts and you heave the railings open, ignoring the pain in your chest as you bolt for the next one. Only, you slow down as you round the corner, seeing a trail of dead bodies amongst the flashing lights. Splats of blood are everywhere. You suppress a shudder and continue running._

_“Shadow,” a voice calls. You jolt. You recognise the voice. A cough sounds out in the eerie corridor and you turn to see Elena curled up on the floor on the corner. You edge your way over to her and crouch before her. Your eyes widen as you spot a pool of blood near her abdomen. You raise a hand to touch her, but it ends up just hovering over her. She weakly raises a hand and grasps yours. “I’m sorry,” she rasps, blood flicking from her lips. You reach your other, shaking hand out and brush the hair stuck to her face. She’s so pale. You gently lift her and pull up to you, kneeling down as you do so._ This can’t be happening. _“I’m s-sorry,” she repeats._

‘No,’ _you mouth._ ‘No. Elena, please.’ _She stares at your lips as you mouth your words, unable to voice them._ ‘Elena, please don’t die.’

_“Ionna,” she says weakly. “M-my name is Ionna.” A hand, covered in shiny, sticky blood touches your cheek. You can feel her quaking in an effort to stay alive. “D-don’t-” she coughs violently. You’re shaking, not quite able to process the scene before you. “Don’t let them c-consume you, Shadow.” She coughs again, her eyes sliding shut._

‘No!’ _You scream silently._ ‘No! Please!’ _Your throat hurts and pain dances up and down in, but you don’t care._

_“Y-you are worth it, Sha-dow,” she coughs, more bubbles of blood being produced between her lips. “You are w-orth dying f-for.” Tears are running down your face as you scream at her silently to wake up. You shake her limp form, but you know she’s gone. Your chest hurts from your bullet wound as you hunch forward, pressing your forehead against Ionna’s cooling one._

* * *

You hold a shaking hand and stroke Yelena’s face. Small strips of blood transfer from your fingers and onto her small cheek, a striking colour against her pale features. You pull her towards you, resting your forehead against hers and breathing gently out.

“You are worth it,” your mouthpiece says clearly, the mechanical yet humanoid voice not portraying your current state of pain. “You are worth protecting, Yelena.”


	14. Chapter 14

You limp through the corridors of the facility, Yelena’s tiny hand clutching yours tightly. You’re determined to walk with your back as straight as possible, showing off your whipped and beaten body and wearing your injuries with stubbornness. You’re actually not allowed to lead Yelena to this part of the facility because the girls are older here. You don’t really care right now. You indicate which door to open and Yelena obediently trots off and pushes it open. You walk through and she follows, shutting the door behind you both.

You slump onto the crash mat and drop the tub of salve next to you. Yelena sits next to you and opens the tub. “Permission to talk?” You nod.

“Granted.”

“Should I put this on your back?” You sigh, but nod. You peel off your top, your face turning red with pain as you hold your breath to stop yourself from reacting to the agony on your back. Yelena shuffles back and sucks in a breath. “I can see your bones,” she says.

“Don’t think too much about it,” you say, pressing your fisted hands against your eyes.  _ It’s not my bones, _ you want to say.  _ It’s just vibranium _ . You’re not sure how classified that information is, though, so you don’t share it. You can feel the girls gentle, cool breaths rolling across your back. It’s soothing against your burning skin. A finger gently runs across one of the cuts on your skin, the salve making the pain more noticeable as it seeps into the wounds. You clench your jaw so hard that you’re convinced that it’s going to break if you clench it any harder. You move one of your hands down and curl it around your ankle, squeezing it when you feel a wave of pain.

The process is absolutely agonising. Your face is screwed up tightly and you keep forgetting to breathe. There’s a noise that you register faintly. You feel dizzy and sick as you inhale and open your eyes. You realise the noise was the door as you look over, watching Natalia shut it after Winter. They both freeze as they observe you and you turn your head away.

“Permission to talk?” Yelena’s quiet, unsure voice penetrates through your pain hazed mind.

“Granted.” You clench your teeth and shut your eyes and remind yourself to breathe.

“Would you like me to continue?”

“Please do.” The pair walk further into the room and you ignore them. Ignoring them isn’t that hard, considering the pain you’re in. Yelena presses the salve on a particularly sore part of your back and you shout out, your nails digging into your ankle and drawing tiny spots of blood. Yelena pauses but you don’t tell her to stop. She continues. A noise of pain sounds out through your mouthpiece. On the edge of your hearing, you can hear Yelena’s shaking breaths. You reach a hand up and slide it over your earpiece, disabling it so it folds in on itself. They can’t hear your pain now, they can only see it. Winter crouches in front of you and gently touches your calf. You open your eyes to see him, feeling slightly relieved by his presence.

“How did this happen?” Another wave of pain washes over you and bite your knuckle in agony. Natalia’s unexpected voice speaks up.

“She refused to beat her.” Winter looks at her quizzically. Natalia gestures to you. “Being whipped is one of the punishments for not punishing a trainee.” You take a deep breath and brace yourself, tensing at Yelena strokes the next load of salve onto your back. No other words are exchanged until Yelena has finished her task. She shuffles and presses herself against your left arm. You move, cringing in pain as you wrap your arm around her shoulders. She looks up at you and you mouth ’Спасибо,’ at her. She nods her head to acknowledge your thanks. You bow your head and sigh, tiredness sweeping over you.

You’re not asleep, but you fade in and out of consciousness whilst you’re sat there. You can hear chatter but it fades to a gentle buzz in the background, luring you to sleep.

* * *

_ The door slams shut and you jolt. You’re back in the room with water covering the floor and you immediately feel sick. You remember that there’s an electrical current flooding through it and you wonder if that’s what they’ll do to you before they kill you. On the table, there’s a gun and on the chair sits Adam. He wheezes in pain and blinks his eyes open to look at you. You walk towards him, pausing only for a moment as your chest flares in pain from your bullet wound. _

_ “Don’t.” He rasps. “Don’t come c-close.” He tenses and yells and you hear a buzzing current coming from the chair. The chair is electric. They’re torturing him. “Please,” he begs once it’s stopped. You watch his eyes flick to the gun on the table.  _ No, _ you think.  _ Please, no. _ The death of Ionna is fresh in your memory and you freeze on the spot, only shaking your head slightly in response. You watch as another wave of pain sparks across his face as the chair electrocutes him once more. _

_ “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry we failed. We- we were so close to getting you out.” The chair buzzes and he screams. You can do nothing but watch, feeling powerless and weak and at a loss of what to do. “Please.” His eyes flick to the gun again and tears prick at your eyes as you realise there is no other way. _

_ You can’t get Adam out of the chair and even if you could, the only way out is the door you entered through. Adam will be tortured to death if you don’t put him out of his misery. You hear his quiet begging and you know what you have to do. You swallow the emotion down your throat and approach the table, the water sloshing about around your ankles as you do so. You check the magazine in the gun to see that there’s only one bullet in it. You shut your eyes, your grip tightening on the weapon as Adam gasps and writhes in pain. Adam calls out to you. _

_ “Oi,” he says weakly and you look at him. He’s got a broken smile on his face. “Wipe that look off of your face, darlin’.” He takes a shuddering breath. “You can do it, I’m not going to hold it against you-” he voice cuts off and his breath hitches as another current of electricity surges through him. He spits some blood. “Please.” You raise the gun, the object shaking from left to right in your quaking hand.  _ Please, please don’t make me do this.  _ “Oi,” he repeats. It’s then that you realise your eyes are screwed shut. You open them. He’s got a weak smile on his face and his eyes look so tired as they meet yours. “You got this, love. You got this.” A click resounds through the chamber, signifying that you’ve turned the safety off on your gun. Adam slides his eyes shut in relief. “Thank you,” he whispers. _

_ You aim for his forehead and pull the trigger. _

* * *

When you come to, you quickly notice that your back is inflamed and your head feels stuffed with cotton. Your mouth feels dry and you open your eyes to see a blurry figure sat in front of you. You frown and blink away the tiredness. Something warm is pressed against your chest and you flick your eyes down to see a sleeping Yelena curled up against you. You can’t remember ever lying down, but you’re on your side now and you don’t exactly feel like moving.

“Natalia brought you some clothes.” You blink slowly. It takes forever for the words to register and for a moment you look at the figure in front of you with a confused look.  _ I know him, _ you think in a daze. It takes you a few minutes to fully wake, but the words he’s said finally click and you realise that he’s Winter. You sigh and roll your eyes to the side to see a small pile of folded clothes. Your lips move to mumble your thanks, forgetting that you can’t actually speak. You shift to sit up and instead wheeze in pain and collapse back down. Yelena shifts but doesn’t stir further. A cold, metal hand touches your forehead and you’re grateful for it. You lean into the touch and slip unconscious once more.

* * *

_ You howl silently in pain as the surgeons work on extracting the bullets from your body. Dr Zola has already tutted at your escape attempt, but he says nothing to you, only using his voice to yell at the others as they work. _

_ You’ve already been injected with something to knock you out, but the pain you’re in keeps you awake and conscious through the entire procedure. There is no word to express the agony you’re going through. When you look down to see your chest, you understand why it hurts so much. The surgeons aren’t just removing bullet wounds, they’re cutting open your chest and bending the cartilage of your ribs backwards. Your eyes widen and you want to be sick, but in the end, all you do is finally pass out. _

_ When you wake up after the procedure, Dr Zola is stood there, a pleased smile on his face. “We’ve taken the opportunity to replace your ribcage with vibranium.” You clench your eyes shut as waves of pain roll over you. The man talks, chatting away about how you’re becoming unstoppable and stronger and you wish that you were just dead already. _ I don’t want to be stronger, _ you think pitifully.  _ I just want to die.

_ “Prep her,” Zola says. Things are a blur as you’re moved around. You’re strapped down into a device and something hard is placed between your teeth and there is a pain in your arm as an IV is placed under the skin in your arm. Pain lashes so hard through your skull and you clench your teeth down, thrashing against the binds around your arms, torso and legs. You know what’s going on now; you’ve been through this before. They’re wiping your memories. _

_ The last face you see flashing through your head is Ionna’s and her mouth as she says to you, “Don’t let them consume you.” _

_ After that, everything is dark. _

* * *

The first thing you do is panic.  _ Where the hell is Yelena? _ Someone is holding you in place with a firm grip as you struggle. “Relax!” A voice shouts at you. “Natalia took her back to her section of the facility. She’s okay.”

_ ‘You don’t know that!’  _ You yell at him silently, your lips forming the words with a fevered desperation. The male shushes you and you come to the realisation that this is Winter. Suddenly realising that it’s him, you shudder and go limp, knowing that he’ll catch you before you hit your head against the floor. He does. You curl up against him, shaking gently from both pain and memory. He places a hand on the back of your head and massages it gently, helping you to relax.

_ What am I doing here? _ You think.  _ Why is this so hard? _ You hide your face in Winter’s chest, trying to stop the water works in your eyes from making you cry.  _ I want to remember, but I’m so scared. I want to know who I am but memory only brings pain. _

A voice echoes in your head,  _ “We’re going to get you out, Shadow-” _

You gasp quietly, suffering silently. Winter removes a hand from your hip that you didn’t even realise was there. He holds it near your hand and you grasp it, the metal pinching bits of your skin as the plates shift. He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back.

“There was a man, you know.” The voice tears you from your thoughts. “He was tiny and awkward, but he always put up a fight. You remind me of him.” He pauses and you glance up to see his face. A small frown is upon his features as he tries to remember. “I… remember mentioning him to you, actually. Before. I… I don’t remember everything with you, but I remember a lot.” You look up at him cautiously, wondering if he remembers the closeness you once shared before they took away his memories. He looks down at your face, taking in your eyes and your gentle features forensically. “They’re mostly feelings and instincts. I know I’ve forgotten you before,” he tenses, swallowing tightly, “but I always remember feeling the same thing when I saw you.” His eyes settle on yours, but they’re distant. “You’re safety.” He mumbles quietly. He sighs then and looks up at the ceiling in thought.

You take a breath and push yourself up, hissing between your teeth as your back flares in agony. You sit, hunched over, cradling your face which is screwed up by the agony. Subtly, you slide a finger across your earpiece. A few seconds later, you speak.

“They’re going to take it all away from us, you know.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “It’s happened before. We’re cheating the system and that never ends well.”  _ We’re becoming human, _ hangs unspoken in the air. You inhale and your back flares painfully, helping you remember that. You reach out and grasp Winter’s hand. “I’m scared. You with Natalia and me caring for Yelena… It’s not allowed.” Winter leans over and kisses your forehead, but doesn’t say anything on the matter. He doesn’t need to; he understands everything.

The threat of the chair hangs over you both.

* * *

_ You’re taken to the room. The one with the chair. Your blood runs cold in your veins when you see it. You know what you’re being punished for now. You were naïve enough to believe that HYDRA would allow you and James to establish any kind of relationship. Even fondness is not tolerated in HYDRA. So when you see the chair, you know that they know. Instead of being lead to the chair, though, you’re stopped in front of it. You wait with bated breath for the inevitable, but it never comes. _

_ When James is shoved into the room, your heart stops in your chest. His wide eyes meet yours. “No,” you say in disbelief, your mechanical voice sounding out amongst the HYDRA agents’ chatter. They stop talking and one laughs at your expression. “No!” Your voice comes out louder and you struggle from where you’re held still. James starts to panic the closer he gets to the chair. He floors an agent and others pounce on him, holding his arms back. “No!” You scream. _

_ You howl out in fear and try to fight off the hold of the agents. You knock one over, elbow another in the face and kick one more. That female guard that fought you each Wednesday morning when you had handcuffs on… her training comes in handy now. A gun fires and a bullet pierces the skin at your ribcage. It stings like a bitch, but thanks to the vibranium it pings sharply and bounces right back out. You lunge on top of a guard pinning James down and the pair of you roll. You’re socked in the face and you knee the man in the privates. Whilst he pauses in pain you bring your hard head up and smack him. You kick the man off of you and swing your legs out, knocking another one down. _

_ It’s a fight that you know you’re going to lose, but you have to save him; you have to save James before they take him away from you. With your help, he manages to fight off some other agents, flicking them away like they’re insignificant flies. Loud crashes echo in the room as equipment falls down and shatters into pieces. James helps you up and you stumble in his grip as you turn to see agents rush through the doors, guns raised. _

_ “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. _

_ “No, please-” _

_ “I love you,” he blurts. “I’m so sorry,” he presses his lips to yours, his warm, calloused hand grasps your neck with a firm tenderness. It barely lasts a second before you’re yanked away by the agents. “I’m sorry!” He calls as you’re pulled violently apart. _

_ “James!” You scream. “Please! No!” You watch James struggle as he’s strapped down in the chair. You thrash as you’re held back, howling out his name. Your eyes stare sorrowfully and unblinkingly into his. You watch his face, unable to tear your tearful eyes away as it contorts in pain. There’s a loud buzzing sound and he screams through the block in his mouth. _

_ You cry out with him as your heart breaks into a thousand pieces. Your world crumbles when it stops and he opens his eyes, raises his head and looks right at you. _

_ “I love you,” you say. He hears your words and his look falters in vague recognition. “James!” You call. Something hits you and you bite your tongue, spitting blood. You watch him get pressed back into the chair, his eyes looking at your fearfully and in panic. “James!” You’re hit again and you barely have time to process the horror on his face as he recognises who you are before someone calls out. _

_ “Wipe him.” He screams again as his memories are ripped from him once more. _

_ This happens three more times before you look into his eyes and you’re met with a blank, lifeless stare. _

* * *

Months after the whipping incident, you’re doing better but still haven’t recovered fully. Yelena seems to be very shaken after applying salve to your injuries, but she soon gets over it. You’ve never met someone so determined as that six-going-seven-year-old in your life, you think. Or at least, no one that you can remember. Her gaze has turned steely and more focused than usual, which you both approve of and worry about.

That’s not what you’re worried about at the moment, though. Shouting catches your attention as you’re walking down the corridors after a training session with Niko. A scream follows it and your blood runs cold in your veins when you recognise is as Natalia’s. You break out into a sprint and it doesn’t take long for you to reach the commotion. Not that you don’t already know what’s happening.

Natalia’s being held back by some of the female supervisors. Her eyes catch yours and you see that they are wide with panic and fear. A sharp, emotional realisation rips through your abdomen when you realise that you’ve pulled that same expression. “Нет!” Natalia yells and you turn your focus to where she’s trying to escape to. There’s a crowd of agents further down the hall and you immediately know that that’s where Winter is.

Running, you hear a few masculine, muffled shouts and recognise them immediately.  _ It’s happening again. _

You stop behind the agents, your hands raised to do intervene, but you don’t know what you can do. With a horrific realisation, you become aware that you are powerless.  _ There’s nothing I can do. _ If you were to help Winter you would probably be beaten down again. The only thing you can really do is be there for him through it all.

You watch helplessly as they beat Winter down until they’re able to drag his limp form to a room down the corridor. You follow every step of the way. The sound of footsteps echo behind you down the corridor and you know that they’re bringing Natalia to watch.

The scenario is painfully similar, yet still different to what your experience was like decades back. You watch, your chest heavy with loss, as Winter is thrown down and strapped into the chair that you always knew would be here somewhere. His eyes are open but he looks dizzy, confused and afraid. It’s when Natalia walks in, kicking and shouting that his eyes go wide and his head seems to clear. The sound of your own voice shocks you.

“This can’t be happening.” Winter somehow hears your quiet words and his head whips around to look at you. His face collapses into horror the longer he stares at you. “No,” you say quietly, frozen in place. “Not again.” You watch his face fall as he mouths at you with trembling lips,  _ ‘I remember’. _

_ He remembers us. _ In a different situation, him remembering your hidden relationship would be almost a happy thing. Now, though, it means that there’s even more that he’s going to lose. Your heart breaks again when an indifferent voice tears through the shouting.

“Wipe him.” He screams in agony and you have to shut your eyes.  _ I can’t stand through this again, you think. I can’t do this. But I have to be here for him. _ You pull your eyes open when there’s silence in the room, save for Winter’s harsh panting and Natalia’s struggling.

He looks at you, then at Natalia, as if he’s missing something. It’s almost like he  _ knows _ what he’s missing, but he also doesn’t quite understand.

“Again.” His screams rip through the room. This time, you have to slide a finger over your earpiece to disable it so that nobody can hear you if you accidently cry out. You manage to keep your face as blank as possible without any cracks to show the pain you’re in. It’s hard to stand there and pretend to be indifferent when your heart is bleeding out for him.

When they wipe him for the third and final time, your eyes are hard and your body is tense with silent, seething rage. As the screaming stops and Winter’s dead, lost eyes peer at you without recognition, you promise yourself one thing.

You lock eyes with Natalia and the look on her face tells you that she already knows what's going on in your head. For the first time, her gaze falters under yours when she sees the burning hate in your eyes.

_ I’m going to kill you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that my updates are so irregular (real life stuff, a LOT is going on right now). I still love you guys though! Thank you for all of your lovely messages :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the next chapter! Apologies for the long wait!

By the time Natalia is selected as Russia’s Black Widow, you’re still seething silently in hate. After the incident with Winter getting wiped, you don’t train her anymore and you’re convinced it’s for the best. You’re grateful that you don’t because you really, _really_ want to hurt her for causing Winter to go through all of that pain more than he has to. You shake with restraint when you see her going out on missions with him. You know that whenever he comes back and he's finished giving his report, he’s wiped again.

You’re not bothered about how long you’ve been out of stasis for, but you must have been at the Red Room for a year or so. _I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I gave up counting anything a long, long time ago._ You can’t tell how long you’ve been here by the length of your hair either because the women shave it each month.

You spend most of your days training Yelena, teaching her things that no child below the age of ten should really know. She’s absolutely lethal for a kid and if you didn’t know her you’d probably be terrified of meeting her. Well, any sane person should be afraid of her _. And let’s be honest, most people I spend time with aren’t really sane._

You’ve just finished another day training the Yelena when you’re told by one of the HYDRA agents that you’re to be taken to a different facility within the week- apparently, someone wants to meet you. You’re not entirely sure how to feel about that. If anything, it makes your skin prickle with unease. You don’t want to say goodbye to young Yelena, but you know that it’s inevitable. On the last day that you see her, you tell her that you’re being taken away to complete assignments. She understands and seems to take it quite well. You can tell by the saddened look in her eyes that she doesn’t want you to go, though. Something pinches in your chest and you promise yourself that you’ll see her again in the future. Before you leave her, you kiss her forehead and say some parting words.

“Always be grateful for what you have, however little. You’re special, Yelena; whatever you want to achieve, you can.” You stand, patting her on the head before making your way over to the door. You flash her a gentle smile, the action feeling foreign having not done it in decades. She returns it and then you leave the room.

An agent orders you to follow and you do. About five other agents surround you, but you’re not really bothered by them. You go down a familiar route and pass the training room that you and Winter sometimes sparred in. Its then that you realise that you may not see him again for a long time. You always remember having him around; be it after a mission, on a mission, before one or just for training. You scratch the back of your head anxiously. _I’ll see him again,_ you think, trying to reassure yourself. As if on cue, the man in question walks out of a door and stops in mid-step. Your eyes flick to his and you register his small, confused frown before you have to turn away again to keep walking. You can practically feel his eyes burning into the back of your skull as you’re escorted down the corridors. Being independent isn’t too hard for you- you’re trained to be like that. But in all of the facilities that you’ve visited, you’ve always relied heavily on Winter's presence. Leaving him behind makes you feel a little scared. You close your eyes and sigh deeply.

 _I’ll see them again,_ you think. You cling to that small scrap of hope as you’re led to somewhere new and unfamiliar. You travel for an agonisingly long time. _Russia’s a massive place, right? I could still be in Russia, but I also might not be, I guess._ The transport doesn’t have a window, so you don’t know how long you’re sat there for. To be honest, though, it’s not like time really matters to you anymore. Its meaning is insignificant to you now that you’ve been made into an asset in HYDRA.

When the transport finally stops and you’re ordered to stand and follow, you take a moment to square your shoulders and lift your chin. Squeezing any anxious feelings that aren’t useful, you make your way outside-

You freeze for a moment as you exit the transport. _This isn’t a facility._ You look around to see the dusty path of a road, trees littered around on either side of it. Your brow crinkles in confusion as you’re led on foot to a village with homes that resemble huts or shacks. Overall, the area is quiet in the night. A door is opened and you’re told to go in. It clicks for you when you walk down inside and you hear someone talking. _China._ You were taught how to speak Mandarin Chinese a long time ago and you’ve never had to use that knowledge in a real situation. A small amount of excitement bubbles up inside of you as you realise that you’ll probably get to use one of your skills. You don’t allow any emotions to show on your face, though.

You’re led down some cold, stone-walled corridors to a room and something inside you immediately recognises it. At first, you’re incredibly confused. The confusion quickly turns to immense fear as you turn to see a male standing in the centre of the room.

It’s him. The man with glasses.

* * *

“It’s good to see that you’re in top condition,” he comments. His accent is still German, but you think you can hear an American accent too in his voice. Before you can freak out, you take a deep breath and mentally switch on your enhanced senses. You register a sound ringing out into the room as the door shuts that echoes. “As you can clearly see,” he gestures to himself, “I am also in top condition.” You take in the details on his face, noting that the time gone past is not showing on his features. _No wrinkles or signs of aging… It looks like he hasn’t aged a day since I last saw him._ _What the hell? When did I last see him? 1945? What year is it now? Shouldn’t he be dead?_ The man takes a step towards you and you take a step back. He chuckles at this, a deep, dark sound, but continues to move towards you. Agents restrain your hands and you feel a wave of panic wash over you. He stands in front of you, his nose only a few inches from yours. You hold your breath as a feeling of familiarity hits you.

 _He’s Werner Reinhardt._ _He’s the reason I’m here._ Suddenly, you start thrashing in the grip of the agents. You want to hurt that bastard for bringing you here. He’s the reason you were taken by HYDRA in the first place! He takes a step back as you attempt to lunge forward at him.

“So you recognise me then.” You’re hit in the face once, and then once more by an agent to your left. A small trickle of blood comes out of your nose. You remember. You remember this happening in 1945. The similarities of the situation make you feel sick with fear and memory. “I’m surprised you do. But then again, it’s only been fifty-five years.” You do the mental calculations in milliseconds. _It’s the year 2000._ You narrow your eyes at him and your lips curl back with venom. Your earpiece is disabled at the moment, and you don’t have a free hand to turn it on to ask some questions. “I suppose you’re wondering how I look so young.” He grins like a shark and turns to look at another agent. “Take her away to the room.”

You yell silently in gut-wrenching fear, kicking your legs out in a struggle as you’re dragged out of the door to another room. Even with all of your enhancements and all of your abilities you feel absolutely powerless as you’re forced down into a metal seat and your ankles are cuffed to the legs of the chair. Your arms are loosely chained to a metal table in front of you. The table is dusted with something dark- some kind of powder maybe, but you’re not entirely sure. There are small, black and crusty lumps dotted around on the table, but you ignore those.

A painfully horrible screeching sound startles you out of your train of thought and you look up to see Reinhardt taking a seat opposite you. He leans forward against the table with a sly grin.

“I would like you to pick this up.” Out of the corner of your eyes, your register a strangely shaped metallic looking object being placed with care down onto the table to your right. You mentally note that it was placed down with prongs and not with hands. You definitely stare into Reinhardt’s eyes. _Make me, you asshole._ “Bring in a subject,” he says calmly, remaining eye contact. An agent exits. You sit there, masking your fear the best that you can as glare at the man opposite you. A shout finally tears your gaze away. Looking up, you watch as another female is brought into the room. She's begging in Chinese as she’s thrown forward.

“Pick it up!” A man barks at her in Chinese. The female eyes you fearfully and then her gaze flicks from the object on the table to the guards who are slowly raising their guns. Her eyes meet yours one final time before she gingerly reaches out and picks up the object. Immediately, she drops it. You flinch away from the object as it rocks in front of you, finally stilling on the tabletop not too far from your hands. You jerk and look up as the woman screams. Your eyes widen and you register a quiet, faint cracking sound. Black starts to spread up her fingers and over her hand as she howls in pain, falling down to the floor. Watching unblinkingly with fear, you see the black substance spread over her entire body as she cries out a final time before the black solidifies over her mouth, both killing and silencing her. Your jaw hurts from clenching it too hard, but it refuses to unlock from it’s current position. You pant faster through your nose as you freak out, watching as an agent kicks the solidified form of the woman. The figure crackles and explodes where the foot connects, showering you, the floor and the table in a black, rock-like dust. You gasp and cough, trying to get away from the dust covering you that was once the form of the living woman. You struggle and the chains rattle as you try and yank your hands away in desperation. It clicks for you as your hands rub against the table in your struggle. _The black dust on the table-_

“Pick up the obelisk.” Your eyes snap to Reinhardt’s. _There’s no way in hell I’m picking that thing up!_ You shake your head and he cocks his head to the side. “Pick it up.” He repeats the words slowly and with a freakish tone of calmness. You pull against the chains restraining your hands. _No!_ Your face is violently slammed down against the table. The vibration of the act tickles your face. Zola’s vibranium stops the impact from hurting you too much, however, your nose starts bleeding again. Your breaths come in sharp rasps as you see prongs enter your line of vision, pushing the object closer towards your right hand. You cry out silently and try to yank your hands away but there’s only so much you can struggle before you have to touch it. You hold your breath as it’s pushed closer to you.

You screw your eyes shut as it lightly touches your knuckles on your right hand. You wait for pain, but none comes. You wait for a creeping sensation that tells you that you’re being covered in that black substance, but nothing happens.

Instead, you feel a vibration and your ears pick up a quiet humming sound. You peel your eyes open to see the object shining and glowing.

“It’s nice to see that you haven’t lost your touch,” Reinhardt jokes lightly, standing. “You see, what I don’t understand is that some can hold the obelisk and others can’t.” Arms are removed from your shoulders and head and you sit up and pull away from what seems to be called the obelisk. It stops humming and the glowing fades. You cautiously watch as Reinhardt leans on the table. “What makes you so special?”

* * *

_“What makes you so special?” He whispers in fascination. You breathe out in relief as the obelisk doesn’t kill you. He walks around the table and takes a seat on the edge of it. A calloused hand brushes against your face and you jerk back in response. He grasps your chin in a firm grip and yanks it up, forcing you to look up into his eyes. His eyes bore into yours as if searching for a secret that you haven’t yet shared. He lets go of your chin and stands. “Many subjects have died touching the obelisk and yet you,” he laughs a little, “you have not. I wonder why this is.” He gives you a calculative glance._

_Your jaw throbs as you look up at him and slur wryly, “Maybe it’s because I’m not a jerk and you are.” You look up at him with a challenge in your gaze. You were sent on this assignment by Peggy and you’re not planning on letting her down. Werner Reinhardt is one of the heads of HYDRA; his main job is to hunt down historical artefacts and recover them for research and use within HYDRA. Taking him down after gathering useful intel was meant to be such a simple task, so of course you had to go and screw it up. You should have covered your tracks better, but you were so sure of yourself that you didn’t think to do it to your usual high standards._ Now look where it’s got me. I’m such an idiot.

_Reinhardt chuckles humorlessly. “I like your spirit, agent.” The chair screeches across the floor and you wince at the atrocious sound. He takes a seat opposite you._

_“The mighty Werner Reinhardt,” you drawl in a mocking tone. “The man who speedily made his way to become an officer of the Schutzstaffel.” You roll your eyes dramatically. “He works his way up the ranks to become a lieutenant general only to then join HYDRA, a bunch of jerks with a fetish for control.” You take some time to spit some blood onto the floor before leaning forward and hissing, “You think you’re so powerful? Why don’t you unchain me and we’ll see who has more skill.” Reinhardt cocks his head to the side in curiosity._

_“Agent Y/L/N; a ‘regular’ worker who is so much more impressive than she looks. A person who aided the Nazis in the war who then turned out to be a skilled undercover agent working right underneath my nose, waiting to strike us from the inside. Waiting to assassinate me.” He smiles sickeningly. “I must say, your skills of deception are impressive, but shouldn’t you be thinking of more important things than HYDRA? Like your family?” Your blood runs cold. He chuckles as the stony expression on your face. “You’re not the only one who has done their research.”_

* * *

You struggle to slow your rapid breathing down as you’re shut alone in a dark room; a cell. It’s eerie in here; there’s no windows and no lights, so everything is pitch black. You place a hand on the wall and walk yourself around the cell. _No bed, no hatch for food and water, and I can’t even find where the damn door is._ There is some kind of dip at a corner of the room and you hazard a guess at what it could be: a place to go to the toilet. _Yay._ Your cold nose crinkles in disgust.

It doesn’t take long for you to get bored of pacing. You’re used to dealing with boredom, but that doesn’t stop the situation being any less… well, boring. Most of your fear has subsided for the time being as you’ve been left alone for what must be a day by now. You’ve not had any rest yet, nor have you eaten or drunk anything. That doesn’t bother you much, though. You’ve been trained to endure this kind of situation for a long time so you know you’ll survive.

You don’t remember much of your life, but having not been wiped in so many years, your memories are steadily coming back. They’re broken up and none of them really make much sense at all, but you cling to them and tell no one about them. Well, no one except Winter, but he keeps forgetting what you tell him when he’s wiped. _Plus he isn’t here right now so I can’t tell him anything._ You feel a small pang of loss at his absence. Gently, you rest your forehead against a wall and sigh deeply, letting your hand slide down against it by your face. There’s some kind of… ridge in the wall. You frown and run your fingers over it once more. _It feels like a letter._

You step back and place your palms against the wall, searching in curiosity. Any other part of the wall that you’ve previously touched has been smooth… You feel a few other bumps that turn out to be more letters. You walk to the left, following the letters and stopping when you reach a letter which you think might be the first. Carefully and ever so slowly, you stroke your fingers around each letter and mentally note them down. You stop at the last letter of each word and repeat the letters you have so far. _I._ You stroke the wall and find another two letters, _A_ and letter _M. AM._ It spells. _I AM._ You continue on to the next word. It spells out a name. You mouth it over and over, thinking about what it could possibly mean and who it could belong to. Not having a clue, you continue onto the next word that’s etched into the wall. It spells out a surname. You frown as you recognise it. You think you’ve had a few memories where that surname has been mentioned, but you’re not quite sure. _It feels familiar._ You repeat the first name and what you guess is a last name over and over in your head until it clicks and you remember.

 _I am Y/N Y/L/N._ You repeat your discovered sentence in your head, a sudden realisation dawning on you. _I am_ _Y/N Y/L/N. It’s_ _my_ _name._ You gape for a moment in surprise, standing there with your hand pressed against the wall, feeling stunned. _My name… After all these years, I finally know my name._ You breathe out in a silent laugh as you continue to run your hand along the letters.

 _I WAS BORN IN 1923,_ are the following words. Your throat feels tight with emotion as you repeat your name and your year of birth over and over and again and again in your mind. There doesn’t appear to be any more letters or numbers, but there doesn’t need to be. You can’t stop the tears that threaten to overflow your eyes as you think, _this is who I am. I can do this._ You can’t stop your shoulders from beginning to shudder from the overwhelming emotions flooding you. _I am strong,_ you think brokenly. A sob rips itself from your throat and a tear spills out onto your cheek. You drop to your knees, your hands remaining stretched up so that you can feel the words etched into the wall.

You remember carving these words.

* * *

_Somehow, you've managed to slip a knife up your sleeve and have kept it successfully hidden. Nobody bothers to pat you down today because most of the agents here think you’re currently delirious and almost unconscious. Reinhardt had ordered some of the other goons to ‘take care of you’ until he gets back from whatever the hell he’s doing. Most of the agents assigned to you don’t have much to do in their spare time, it seems. You know you can tolerate whatever they do to you, though. You are strong._

_It’s getting to you, however. All of the isolation, the malnutrition, the torture. It’s making you slowly lose your mind. Your sleep pattern has gone AWOL and you occasionally struggle in an attempt to work out if you are actually awake, or if you’re asleep when you’re left alone. You’re starting to hallucinate sounds- sometimes it's the sound of footsteps, other times it whispering. Once, you startled at the sound of screams and it was only when you opened your eyes to see that someone was trying to revive you that you realised the sound was coming from you._

I need something to cling to, _you tell yourself._ I need something to ground me.

 _So, after being tossed into the cell like a limp doll, you find yourself kneeling on the floor in a small pool of your own blood, clutching the knife. You scratch and carve into the wall your name (or what you think is your name) and also the year that you were born in._ I can’t- I can’t remember the date. _You rub your head roughly._ What month was I born again? _You hold your breath and try to remember only to discover that you can’t. You tell yourself to take deep breaths to calm yourself. It sort of works, but tears still spill over onto your cheeks, even when you close your eyes._

 _When you think you’re going mad, you run your hand over your name and birth year etched into the wall and tell yourself,_ that’s me, this is who I am. I can do this. I am strong. _It’s always a relief when the guards take you away from that cell and to somewhere with light._

_When Werner Reinhardt returns to the facility and informs you of what HYDRA plans to do to you over the years to make you useful- i.e. cutting open your back to study what makes you ‘special’ and replacing your spinal structure with some rare vibranium, whilst also placing some kind of ‘state of the art’ piece of crap in your voice box- you should be terrified. But you’re not. Anything is better than this isolation. Even when you’re taken to the room with the fancy looking mind chair you’re not scared. You're just relieved that you’re not stuck in that black hole of nothingness by yourself._

_As you’re shoved into the chair, hissing in pain feeling it dancing up your throat, you repeat to yourself your mantra once more._

I am Y/N Y/L/N. I was born in 1923. This is who I am. I can do this. I am strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thank you all so much for your patience and kind messages! Please let me know if I have made any errors in this chapter, as I haven't been able to write much for a while. I love you all <3
> 
> (Also, I've hit a case of writers block for the next few chapters. So if anyone has any suggestions or comments, prompts or questions for me, please put them forward! Thanks guys! :) )


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years y'all :)

He slaps when you don’t respond to his insults. Reinhardt treats you like a pet that’s disobedient. Although his behaviour towards you makes you seethe with anger, you store it all away, ready to unleash at a better moment. A moment where your retaliation will end in his death, not yours. It’s difficult to restrain yourself sometimes. Reinhardt is  _so_ patronising. He pats your head or shoulder and mockingly coos praise when you do as he asks.

Some days you feel like giving up. You wonder if it would simply be easier breaking, just becoming that pet that isn’t defiant. But you tell yourself, _no_. You think of Yelena, so lethally innocent and small. You think of Winter and even Natalia. You think of your name and your incomplete mission. You remind yourself every day of these things to keep yourself going. You repeat your reasons to go on like a mantra. You cling to it.

Days go by; things feel the same almost every day. If you’re lucky, you’re taken outside. These times are very brief and they’re always at night time so you can’t clearly distinguish the surroundings. You scan the perimeter and analyse the civilian buildings around you before you’re taken back inside.

Mostly, your days are filled sat in some kind of operating chair. Scientists swarm around you, taking blood and tissue samples to dissect and investigate. Everyone seems obsessed with finding what enables you to touch the obelisk. So far your blood seems to be normal. High in metals, but normal. With each day that the scientists make no progress, the more frustrated Reinhardt becomes. You don’t really care, though. _Let him have a bad time, he’s an asshole._

You’re used to being poked and prodded so often that when it all happens, it doesn’t really bother you. However, you find yourself to be interested in the machine you’re hooked up to. One of the scientists mentioned dialysis briefly to you, but that doesn’t mean much. You’re not entirely sure what that is. But the machine seems to draw out your blood through your arm. It feeds through a tube where it goes into some kind of machine. Some of the blood drips seems to be taken and out into some kind of petri dish. The rest of the blood pumps around and flows back through another tube back into your body.

The entire process is quite tiring and you typically feel very drained after your sessions. It’s not like you’re going to be doing much anyway. A few times in what must be a week, you’re given half days where you can go train and keep yourself fit and in prime condition, should you be needed for a mission. You like those days. The exercise helps you to perk up and feel better. It reminds you of your power and strength. And on those days, you look into the eyes of agents and scientists knowing that you’re allowing them to treat you this way, because you could easily take them all down.

On these training days, you think of freedom. Particularly now more than ever, as most days you are alone training without Winter by your side. You’ve seen the outside world and have glimpses of civilians going about their everyday lives. When you’re left in your cell by yourself, you often wonder what it’s like outside. Is it hot or cold? Is the sky clear or cloudy? Does the moon shine bright tonight? When you go on the running machine, you close your eyes and pretend that you can feel a wind blowing in your face. You pretend you’re running in that park in Texas by that river. And instead of hiding out of sight observing the civilians, you image that you are one. Your mind runs wild, but it always seems to come back to Winter.

You wonder how he is doing. You wonder about his missions. Sometimes you fantasise in your loneliness of Winter escaping the Red Room Academy and coming to free you from all the tests and unfair treatment that Reinhardt puts you through. After your training days, you always go back to your cell feeling better. The bright lure of freedom keeps your mind occupied with a tranquil state of fake peace.

You do this for hours at a time, and as the months stretch on, you do it almost every day. But in the end, you always sigh at the thought of freedom. _It will never happen_ , you always think, crushing your hope then and there. You always scoff at your silly sentimental thoughts.

After all, you’ve been with HYDRA for more than fifty years. What are the chances of freedom anyway? There aren’t any, in the grand scheme of things.

* * *

You wake up in your cell to the sound of a loud click coming from your left. You sit up and frown, looking in the direction the sound came from to see a small bar of light shining into the cell. Squinting in confusion, you cautiously stand and walk towards the light. It turns out the door is slightly ajar. You swallow thickly as your fingertips brush against the cell door. _Is this real? Or am I dreaming…_ You take a deep breath and clasp the cold frame which is the door, slowly pulling it open. You half expect to be ambushed by guards as soon as you do so.

Instead, the lights in the corridors hurt your eyes. You squint as you step out of your cell. You hold up a hand to shield your eyes. _What is going on?_ You look down the corridor and see a few other puzzled prisoners wide-eyed, glancing down the corridors like hunted animals. _What in the world is happening?_ You stand for a few moments, not having a clue on what to do. Some of the prisoners start to gather together to your left and murmur amongst themselves. You hear one of the Chinese prisoners ask if this is a trap. You’re slapped with the thought that maybe this isn’t one. _Maybe there’s a way to get out of here._

Your brain snaps into gear. You slap your hand hard against the wall to get the attention of the others. Many of the prisoners look at you in alarm. You jerk your head as if to say, _“follow me”_ . You start walking to the right. You don’t check to see if they are following, but you can hear the group of prisoners jog to catch up with you as you march down the corridors. With each cell door that you pass, more freed prisoners join you. At each bend in the corridor, you check around to see if there are any HYDRA guards. There isn’t any. _Strange._

You feel a huge surge of unease trickle through your stomach when you reach the stairs leading up to the ground floor of the facility. Something feels so _wrong_ about this. You jog up the steps as quietly as you can. You’re about two floors up when the alarms start blaring. You flinch instinctively as red lights start flashing in the stairwell. You hear a slam a few floors down and some shouting. You break out into a sprint.

Adrenaline rushes through your veins like burning fire as you launch yourself up the stairs. A door slams open on the right and HYDRA guards burst into the stairwell holding guns. You don’t stop. You leap up stairs as guns are fired at you and the other prisoners. Screams sound out in the corridor and the sound of guns and fighting echoes. A few prisoners manage to get around the guards and you can hear them running up behind you. The door on the floor above slams open and you can hear guards rushing down the stairs towards you. There’s a squeak from your shoes as you realise this and twist to run away. A door is to your side and you haul it open and sprint through. Guards with guns are in front of you and they start shouting. You’re a fast runner and you manage to get close enough to fight them before they start firing guns. You swing, kick, leap and dodge as you fight them, feeling a desperation to run away. Bullets fire as more prisoners start to join in the fight. A few crumple to the floor but you pay the bodies no mind.

Your back stings and you hiss as you’re hit by a bullet. You feel it ricochet. You know the vibranium will stop the bullet giving you critical injuries but you can still feel your skin being torn open. The roar of the fight, the blaring of the alarms, the guns firing, it’s all deafening. But it is easier to slip away unnoticed in a place of chaos than it is to escape in a place of peace. Pain dances across the right side of your face as you’re punched. You immediately swing and knock the HYDRA agent off balance. With a swift kick, she loses her balance. She grasps your wrist as she tries to drag you down with her. A quick twist of your hands is all it takes for you to snap her wrist. She howls in pain and clutches her broken limb as you slam a foot down on her abdomen. She rolls to her side and you take her gun. You kill her with a single shot and proceed to shoot the person in front of you blocking your exit before charging down the corridor. You shoot any HYDRA guards you come across and keep running.

Panting and out of breath, you finally reach another stairwell. You force your tired limbs up the stairs another few floors. You come out on a floor that is one above the ground floor. Cursing mentally you realise this as you look out of a window. The upper floors of the facility appear more office like so they appear more normal to the outside world. It’s a smart way for the HYDRA base to blend in with its surroundings. You glance around and spot the shack that you first entered when you were taken to meet Reinhardt. _It looks small from up here. That means the facility is humongous_. Outside there are also civilians clambering around, their houses on fire from. You frown in confusion. Your eyes scrutinise the destruction before you, landing on… _Are those cars?_

BANG! A gunshot rips you from your thoughts. The bullet barely misses your shoulder, cracking the glass you were peering out of. Another gunshot resounds and you decide not to fight. Going with instinct, you slam into the window, smashing it with all your strength. You throw yourself out of it and roll when you reach the floor, the vibranium in your back absorbing most of the impact. You stagger to stand and look up, assessing where to run.

Then a realisation dawns on you, then.

_The facility is under attack._

Not only are there many black vehicles scattered around, there are also too many bodies. A thundering noise above you tells you there are aircrafts around too. Things start to click into place now and you understand why there were no guards around the cells in the corridors. _They were trying to stop the intruders._ Briefly, you wonder what happened to Reinhardt. You wonder if he's still alive. Your nose twitches distastefully and you shake your head. Instead, you think about where you should go to get away. You start to move forward.

A bullet pierces your right calf and you give a sharp inhale of pain. You hesitated too long. _I should have ran straight away._ Something smacks you around the head with a power that would knock a normal person unconscious. You stagger forward. _Good job I’m not a normal person then._

You spin and kick your leg out despite your injuries, making the agent jump back. The agent in front of you looks shocked that your still standing but recovers quickly. More agents flood out as you knock out the agent before you. You blink in surprise. _They’re not HYDRA agents._ They shout at you with their guns pointed in your direction. The sound of gunfire inside the facility is coming closer, you think. You don’t know what is happening. You don’t know who the attackers are. You just know that you need to get away. You slowly raise your hands up in surrender as you consider all of your possible escape options. After a few seconds, the agents approach you, their guns still raised. As you catch your breath, you take in the symbol on their jackets. _What’s that? It looks like a bird..._

A shout from an agent. A whistling sound. A second an explosion. You duck as bits of burning debris are hurled over your head. You glance behind you. The cars are blown up. The agents raise their guns towards the sky, firing their weapons as you look up. _HYDRA reinforcements._

You’re not sure if you’re relieved or more unnerved by this. The aircraft opens fire at the agents and you choose that opportunity to run. Your hiss an exhale as your leg stings from the bullet wound. You trip over some debris and fall hard onto the floor, scraping your palms on the ground. You roll yourself up and force yourself to stand. Everything is absolute chaos and you don’t understand what is happening.

A whirring sound reaches your ears which makes the hairs on your neck and arms raise. It starts off quiet and gets louder, rising above the shouts of the agents. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the HYDRA aircraft pull away and fly off.

You see the brightest flash you’ve ever seen before you feel yourself get thrown back. You feel yourself crash into the building. You crumple to the floor in what feels like slow motion. There's a loud ringing in your ears, a pain behind your eyes and you feel numbness spread throughout your body. The surroundings go blurry and your eyes slide closed.

Everything goes dark.

* * *

Heat. Burning heat is racing through your body, up your veins and through your core. It’s so uncomfortable. Your limbs feel slow, sluggish like you’ve been asleep for too long. It feels like you’re waking up from cryostasis, but you’re way too warm for that.

You sigh out of your nose, forcing your jaw open. You feel your lips peel from one another uncomfortably. You lick your lips but your tongue feels too dry. You breathe in deeply and, with great strength, manage to open your eyelids.

Light burns your eyes, but you expected that to happen. They seem to adjust faster than usual. You glance around, taking in your surroundings. At first, you’re incredibly confused. _Where the hell am I?_ You look down and realise you’re strapped to something almost vertical. An IV drip is attached to your right arm and your eyes widen in shock when you see your arm _glowing._ You feel a searing pain in your back, throat and head. A heat is building up inside you and you hiss through your teeth, your muscles tensing at the rising heat. You’re uncomfortably hot and seem to be getting _hotter._

You hear a woman crying out in pain to your left and your head snaps around. _More_ people are strapped to the same device you are. They are also glowing. The man further along starts to scream in agony and you screw your eyes shut in fear. Pain rips across your spine and over the back of your head and your mouth opens to howl in agony, but no sound comes out. Your throat burns with the strain of not screaming. You hear a man talk, and barely make out his words.

“We gotta get out of here! We gotta get out of here! Get them up! Get them out of here!” You feel the straps keeping you in place get ripped open and several cold hands cling to you and drag you out of the room with the other glowing people. Everyone seems rushed and you can’t concentrate. The last thing you hear before passing out is a loud bang and the sound of the room behind you collapsing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this chapter doesn't seem up to the usual standards. It's not as long as I'd usually like them to be and it's also not as good; I had really bad writers block and I'm also too excited to get to the next part of the story. We're getting closer to the more exciting parts! Yay :D


	17. Chapter 17

_ My head feels like it’s going to explode.  _ You roll onto your side and press the heels of your palms into your eyes.  _ Oh my god.  _ You stay as you are for a few minutes, curled up on your side, mentally groaning. When your head starts to clear, you slowly push yourself up to sit. Twisting, you dangle your legs off of the edge of the bed, then you rest your elbows on your knees and cradle your head. A surge of nausea overwhelms you. Eventually, when your head stops spinning, you open your eyes.

You’re in a dimly lit room, the soft whiteness of the room surprisingly gentle on your eyes. You notice immediately everything in the room is white, even your clothes. It strikes you as a little peculiar at first, but then again whatever you remember from your life so far has been strange so you take it in your stride. You sigh.

_ Fantastic. What now…?  _ You stand and wait until you feel steady, before wandering around the room. You spot the door and head in that direction. You test the handle and discover the door is locked.  _ Big whoop _ .  You turn away from the door and notice a camera in the corner of the room. A small green light is blinking at you. You tilt your head curiously before moving to pace around the room.

Your headache is still with you, unyielding even though it must have been some time now since you woke up. You rub your head. It’s hot to the touch. But then again, you’ve noticed that your body temperature is uncomfortably warm in general. _ I don’t remember what it's like being ill… but maybe I’m just ill? _

You shake your head as you pace.  _ Why am I here? _ You rub your chin thoughtfully and lift a hand to card your fingers through your hair, an old habit that’s been hard to break. Your hand meets a bald head and you roll your eyes as you remember you don’t have any hair.

You hear a loud click and swivel to face the door as it opens. A lady dressed in white comes in, her auburn hair tucked neatly in a bun.

“Please,” she says, “take a seat." You give her a dubious look. "I'd like to take your vitals to check that you're okay.” You narrow your eyes and scrutinise her curiously. Your mouth pulls downward but you do what she asks. You walk over to the bed and take a seat. She trails a small trolley of equipment over to you and fiddles with it. “Give me your arm,” she says, holding out a needle. Your nose twitches. You don’t have any good memories of needles. The lady seems to spot the unease on your face. She smiles gently. “I’m just going to take a blood sample.” She stretches out her palm as if to spur you on.  You mentally grumble but stretch your arm out. Almost immediately you feel a prick on your skin watch uneasily as the syringe fills up with your blood.

Once that’s over, the lady informs you that she’s going to check your heart rate and pulse. After she’s found out your BPM, you watch her jot down some notes. She then places a cold stethoscope to your chest and then asks you to turn before placing it on your back. Apparently, it’s to check your breathing. You think that it’s all over until she presses a hand over your eyes and shines a light on them. You almost,  _ the key word here being almost _ , flinch and reach up to snap the woman's wrist. Her movements were unexpected and you thought for a moment she was going to attack you. Instead, you wince from the bright light. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared. You blink owlishly to get rid of the shape of the light every time you blink. You hear the lady mutter something about the size of your pupils, and then she turns to you and smiles.

“Thank you, for your cooperation. I shall inform Dr Killian of how you’re holding up.” With that, you see her nod, before marching her trolley out of the door. The door clicks as it locks behind her.

You rub your eyes in annoyance, a shape where the light was flashed still coming up whenever you blink. You sigh, rubbing your eyes again and then electing to lay back down on the bed. It feels surreal, the bed. You’re not used to how the mattress seems to sink it, and gently mould to fit your form. The mattresses at the HYDRA bases where you were used to sleeping were more solid and uncomfortable.  _ The ones here seem so comfortable that they’re uncomfortable, it’s weird, I don’t like it. _

You hesitate for a moment. A frown creases between your eyebrows. You slowly sit up as it hits you.

_ I’m not in a HYDRA base. _ You lick your lips in contemplation.  _ So where the hell am I? _ You rub your head, hoping that it helps you remember. You eventually do, but your memories seem strangely distant.

On the edge of your memory, you remember being tested on.  _ Where was I? I think it was China? Why was I there? _ You scowl.  _ I was there because of Reinhardt, the bastard. _ Your nose wrinkles as you remember scientists hooking you up to machines.  _ There was something to do with my blood or whatever. _ You lay back down again, your bare feet press against the mattress so that your knees are pointing up. You fiddle and tug at a loose thread on your trousers as you think.

Vaguely, you remember some kind of fight between you and some HYDRA agents. Your brain clicks again.  _ There was an attack on the HYDRA facility and the prisoners escaped. There were fights in the corridors… _ Your eyes widen when you remember being outside and that there was a strange kind of explosion.

_ That’s how I’m here, _ you ponder with a realisation.  _ Someone must have taken me when I was unconscious. _ You feel more at ease now you understand why you are where you are. But unease quickly floods back at full force as you realise you have no idea where you are

Or who you’re with.

Or what the hell you’re doing here.

At least while you were with HYDRA you knew what to expect and in turn what was expected of you. You take a deep breath.  _ Time will tell what happens. _

You lay there and eventually drift off into a restless slumber.

***

The next time you wake you’re a little disorientated. It takes a few moments for your brain to catch up but you remember. You sit up as you blink furiously while your eyes adjust to the light.  _ I feel like my head has been stuffed with cotton. _ You still feel a bit nauseous, but the worst of it all seems to have passed.

You jump as the door clicks open. A man strides in.

“I see you’re awake.” You haul yourself off of the bed so that you are standing to observe the man as he approaches, a chair in one of his hands. He places it down, taking a seat. You observe his hands as he makes gestures when he starts to speak. “You were put on this programme so that you would finally wake up.” He gives you a once over when you say nothing. “There will be a few more phases and then you are safe to go back into the hands of… the organisation that brought you.” Your brain is clearing more every second that you’re awake. What the voice says finally registers.

_ You were put on this programme so that you would finally wake up. _

Your head snaps up.  _ What? _ You turn your head to  _ really _ look at the man. He brushes his shoulder length blond hair behind his ears and leans forward, his elbows on his knees.  _ And what organisation? Is he talking about HYDRA, or something else?  _ You narrow your eyes at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“From what I was told, the device on the back of your head was fried from an EMP, causing permanent damage to your brain. Some engineers fixed the device but you ended up in a coma and they couldn’t wake you,” the American voice sounds out smoothly within the room. You briefly remember the bright flash you saw before you passed out.  _ Wait hang on, what the hell is an EMP?  _ The man pauses, watching the information sink in.  _ Oh yeah, an electromagnetic pulse. God, my brain is so slow today.  _ The man continues when you give a small nod.

“We injected you with a serum. It’s an advanced form of genetic manipulation that uses nanotechnology.” His voice sounds increasingly excited the more he explains. “It gives the body the ability to heal and regenerate physical damages, deformities and, in some cases, it can heal psychological damages. In addition, the injection enables you to heal severe injuries whilst also giving physical enhancements as well as an exothermic ability.” You pause. You blink.

_ What the fuck? _

Without a beat of hesitation, he continues on. 

“You may notice some side effects, such as a change in body temperature, an increased appetite and increased energy and strength. These are just a few of the side effects.” He pauses, licking his lips. “There will be a few more injections to come in the upcoming weeks. Then you will be free to go back to your… business.” Standing, he clears his throat. Stretching a hand out to you he gives you a small grin. It takes you a moment to realise he’s offering you a handshake. This confuses you even more. Gingerly, you take the hand and give it a firm shake.

“I’ll leave you to rest.” He spreads his arms wide, “Welcome,” the grin spreads across his face, “to the Extremis programme.”

***

Extremis, you figure out, is actually pretty cool.  _ Well, maybe ‘cool’ is the wrong word to use, but it’s pretty awesome. _ Once a day, you get taken to a training room with all the other ex-soldiers. There, you all fight and spar. It reminds you of being back in the training room with Winter, except this time any injury you receive is healed within seconds. If not that, it only takes a matter of minutes.

You broke your wrist on one occasion. With fascination, you watched your wrist snap back into place and you could  _ feel _ the bone mending. Not only that, but your arm  _ glowed _ when it healed. Any cuts seem to heal in a similar manner.

An old feeling comes back to you. The satisfaction, the determination to become better, to be stronger. It overwhelms you once again. With each phase of the Extremis programme, there’s another injection and  _ more  _ power. Although the process is always painful, you know that it’s only going to help you get better, stronger. You feel greedy. You don’t care, though. You just want the injections to keep coming.  _ No one can stop me now. _

There are downsides, though. 

Nightmares haunt you when you sleep. It might be your head healing from the strain and torture it’s been put through over the decades. But you’re  _ so _ so sure that the nightmares are memories. Your dreams always consist of names, guns, blood, dates and screaming.  _ And there is always so much screaming. _ You always wake up after them sweating, panting, you’re head foggy from sleep. Afterwards, you’re always gifted with a massive headache. The nightmares fade, no matter how hard you try to cling to them to understand what they mean. In the night the silence is an unyielding pressure. It slowly drives you crazy.

Not only this, but Extremis has ignited a temper within you. It’s easier for you to become frustrated now, and you find it more difficult to restrain your building anger. You notice when you get too angry that your skin starts to tingle and glow. The fire in your veins only encourages your anger, but you’ve taken to thinking of Winter to calm yourself down.

It feels like years since you’ve seen him, but thinking back, it can only have been at the very most one or possibly two years.  _ I left the Red Room Academy, went to China, stayed there awhile… apparently went into a coma and now I’m here. It can’t be longer than a year and a bit, surely? _ An unease curls in your stomach, telling you it’s been longer than you think.

By the time it comes to the final Extremis injection, you’re burning to see Winter again. You think of him everyday as the thought of him helps you get by. You’re fed up of sparring with the soldiers. They’re not Winter. They’re a good fight, sure, but they’re not Winter. You’re fed up of all of these scientists recording your every move, studying you day by day.  _ I mean, I’m sure HYDRA did the same thing, but damn they were less annoying about it. _

So when the needle enters your arm for the final phase of Extremis, you shut your eyes in relief, knowing you’ll find a way out of here.  _ Soon. _ You tell yourself.  _ Soon it will be time to go home, wherever that may be. _

***

It turns out you were with an organisation named Advanced Idea Mechanics, or AIM for short. The day comes where the door unlocks to your room and you're greeted with HYDRA goons. A combination of relief and tension flows through you. Whilst you're not comfortable with going back to HYDRA, you're familiar with the way the organisation works. Your nose twitches as you're surrounded and ordered to follow.  _ So HYDRA did bring me here. _

You don't bother to pay attention with where in the facility you're being led, you're leaving here anyway. You just follow the guards as told. Eventually, you're led to a deserted area behind the building where all the waste is dumped. There's a vehicle waiting.

The doors open and you're told to take a seat. A few guards join you in the containment section of the vehicle and it strikes you as a little odd that you haven't got handcuffs on.  _ It's probably because they know I could melt them _ . Your nose twitches.  _ Or maybe they forgot. They are idiots after all. _ You remember Dr Killian telling you about gaining exothermic abilities. After each phase of extremis, you were lead to a special kind of room that enabled you to test them out. You discovered that you can create flames with your hands if you want to, but you can also raise your body temperature so high that you can melt metal. Your skin glows when you use your abilities and it always fascinates you when it happens. 

The journey is long and dull and your ass starts to feel numb after a while. Thankfully, the vehicle eventually comes to a halt. Just when you think the journey is over, you step out to see some kind of jet. You sigh.  _ I hope I can see Winter again soon. _

You board the jet, waiting patiently. You feel a little anxious as the jet takes off and you're not completely sure why. You think of Winter to help you feel better as you're flown away from America and taken to a place you don't know. 

***

You recognise the outside of the HYDRA base when you arrive. _Back in Russia, then_. You feel a little more settled down, but you’re still itching with anxiety. Earlier, you had to be restrained by some HYDRA agents because one of them brushed past you and you lashed out in your trepidation. Whatever beating you received in return healed within minutes. Your energy levels dimmed and you eventually calmed down. You’re not sure why you’re so highly strung. Maybe it’s because of the fire flowing through your veins. _Or maybe it’s because the last time I was here it must have been over a decade ago._ _Maybe it’s because Winter will be here._ You rub your head in discomfort. _Or maybe it’s because there’s a possibility that he won’t be._

You’re lead through the facility, along corridors, down lifts, and it’s safe to say that the base has been upgraded since you were last here. The cameras in the corridors are harder to spot even though there’s a  _ lot _ of them. All doors seem to be mechanically locked but it appears they’re manually opened.

When you get dropped off in your cell, though, nothing has changed. Your eyes flick to the wall and you stiffen. As the cell door locks behind you, you move stagnantly towards the wall over by the bed. Small, faded white marks are drawn on the wall, four vertical lines and then a cross over each set. Your fingers graze over a set, a white powder dusting on your fingertips.  _ There’s so many of them. _ You feel like your heart is rising in your throat.

_ One hundred weeks. _ You swallow thickly, your eyes flicking each of the tally marks upon the wall. Tears are threatening to blur your eyes as a strange kind of emotion spreads through your chest. It feels like a huge gaping hole of loss is where your heart should be.

You have no idea how long ago you did this tally, but you know it was a  _ long, _ long time ago.

Suddenly feeling weak at the knees, you allow yourself to slump onto the bed, your feet hanging off of the edge.

You stare at nothing, feeling empty.

***

When you wake up, you feel a bit surprised having not realised that you had fallen asleep. Flashes of a man standing at your cell door, a goatee framing the grin on his face as he says  _ “Oi,”  _ to wake you up start to fade away from your dreams. You blink away the sleep in your eyes. You shake your head to clear it, suppressing a shiver.

This cell gives you bad vibes.  _ Maybe before it felt more like a home, but being in here again after so long… _ You can feel time pressing against you as you think about how long it’s been since you were last here. It must be at least several decades - after you’d completed your training, you’d been put in cryostasis several times, so you never really saw this cell again.  _ Until now, that is _ . You glance briefly at the tally marks on the wall.  _ You’d have thought they’d have wiped it all off. Maybe they just don’t bother to clean their cells. Or maybe it’s just another way to mock me, by keeping it there. _

A guard rattles the bars of the cell. You stand, walking over to the hatch. Just as you expected, a tray of food with a cup of water is placed there moments later.

The food looks as bad as you remember it. Picking up the tray, you go over to the mattress and sit down with it. You sip at the water as you stare at the food, losing your appetite. Begrudgingly, you start to pick at the food here and there but you just don’t feel like eating it.  _ This is probably going to be my only meal of the day, I should at least try and eat most of it. _ You sigh, feeling a bit sick as you start to eat. You get halfway before you give up, placing the tray back at the hatch, the cup balancing on top. You watch it disappear as it’s taken away and you can’t help but wonder if you’re going to be left alone in your cell, or if you’re going to do something today.

You trudge back to your bed and sit, waiting for something or nothing to happen.

***

The bars are shaken, but it doesn’t make you jump. You’re already awake having not slept. With no sense of time, you have no idea whether it’s during the day, it’s night, or if it’s the next day. To be frank, you also couldn’t care less. You walk over to the door and you’re ordered in Russian to place your hands down at the hatch. You almost roll your eyes as handcuffs are placed around your wrists.  _ So this guy would be in for a surprise if I decided to melt them. _ Briefly, you consider melting it just to see what his reaction would be. Your mouth twitches in mild amusement as you think about it. The door is opened and you’re attached to a chain. You follow the man down a familiar path to the training room.

As the door opens to the training room, you feel no trepidation, nor excitement that you used to feel when you entered this room. You just feel... _ tired. _ It’s not physical, only a mental weariness, yet you feel like just toppling onto the floor and refusing to get up. The idea is actually tempting, and you mull it over for a few seconds before you look up and see a figure standing in the room in the centre of some guards.

Your spine straightens as the guards clear out of the way, heading towards the door. You see a glint of a familiar metal arm. 

_ Winter. _

Immediately your eyes go wide and you feel relief in your chest as your eyes meet his. Only… his eyes look blank. Your enthusiasm dies a little as you realise that he’s most likely been wiped too many times.  _ He won’t know who I am _ . The pair of you stare at each other for a few minutes, waiting for the other to make the first move. Eventually, you can’t take it anymore. The longer you look at him for, the more it hits you that he doesn’t know you. Pain fills you as you walk over to the training mats and glance at him. You jerk your head in the direction of the mats. Winter follows.

Once you’re both there, you lift your fists tiredly and nod your head, telling him to make the first move. Winter seems just as unenthusiastic to spar as you are. A frown mars his face and his eyes narrow as they gaze at your weakly formed fists.

Seconds later, his face clears and a metallic fist is swung at your face. You duck under it swiftly, grab his arm and haul him over your shoulder with all of your strength. He flips over your back, landing gracefully on his feet before turning and swinging a leg around to kick you.  _ Not one of those annoying ballerina moves. The girls in the Red Room always did this move.  _ You grab his leg and throw it up, knocking him off balance.  _ Amateur.  _ He lands on his back as you expected him to. He’s just about to leap back up but you’re prepared. You throw yourself on top of him, straddling his hips to pin him down. Before he can move you grab his wrists, pinning them to the floor.

You feel his core tighten beneath you as he starts to push his arms up to knock you off. With all your strength, you try to keep his hands on the floor.  _ Fuck, _ you curse. _ He’s stronger than I thought he was. _ The pair of you have a battle of strength, arms quaking as you both try to overpower the other. Your teeth clench painfully. A hiss escapes between your teeth as you strain your arms in effort to stop his hands from rising further. If you could make a sound, you’d most likely be growling between your teeth. You spot Winter baring his teeth in effort too. You’re completely aware that he could kick you off using his legs, and he probably is too, but you both test each other's arm power, snarling in endurance.

Your arms give a powerful shake and that’s when you know you’ve lost. You fly backward with Winter’s strength and his legs kick up as he flips into a standing position. You wrap your legs around his hips as he does so, and throw yourself backwards. Just in time, you tuck your chin to your chest milliseconds before your head smashes against the floor. Expertly, you flip backwards between Winter’s legs, the force of your momentum pulling him to the floor with you. At the last second as you hit the floor you brace, throwing yourself to the side before Winter collides with your frame. Winter catches himself in a pushup position as you swing and kick his right arm out from under him. As he tilts to hit the floor you pounce onto his back and grip his arm, twisting it backwards. He hisses as he tries to move and you tug his right arm up whilst pressing half of your weight on his left side, trapping him in place. His metal arm flails as he tries to grab you. You’re just out of reach, though.

_ Checkmate. _

Winter grunts, an invitation for you to move, but you choose not to. You’re determined to get him to say something to you, which, so far, he hasn’t.  _ Stubborn bastard, as usual. _ You yourself have no way of communicating. You never received an earpiece on your arrival back at HYDRA. Bitterly, you wonder if you’ll have to start using a blackboard again. With distaste, you think of the tally marks on the wall.

“You can move now,” Winter says gruffly. Finally. You hold back a sigh and release him, climbing off. You offer him a hand up and he looks at the offered hand suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.  _ It’s almost like he’s expecting another attack. _

You’re struck with memories.

_ Suddenly he’s standing up again and is offering you his metal hand to help you up. You narrow your eyes suspiciously at the hand he’s offering and half expect it to be another attack. _

Instinctively, you pull your hand back immediately, hugging it to your core. You force the memory down, as well as the feeling that comes with it. Winter tilts his head, observing the brief surprise and then pain on your face. He stands.

“I’ve seen you before,” Winter says quietly, his face still impassive. You meet his gaze, your eyes filling with pain. Nodding, you look down at your palms. “You were hooked up to machines…” You look up, not expecting to hear that. Winter shakes his head. “There’s...there’s something about you…” He hesitates, his eyes glancing around the room as if checking that other people can’t hear. “I don’t know what it is, but it makes me want to talk.” He rubs his head and you gaze turns sadder as he says, “You scare me.” 

You gulp audibly and mouth,  _ “Why?” _ . His eyes widen as he remembers.

_ “You scare me,” he admits, hiding his face from you. _

_ “Why?” You ask, no hesitation in your tone. _

_ His ever growing mop of hair falls down to frame his face, tickling your cheeks as you look up at him. It creates a secretive feeling as though the room is full of people and yet his words are just for you. _

_ “Because I tell you things that I can’t even tell myself.” _

There’s a beat of silence as he says quietly, “You can’t talk, can you.” You look down at your hands. It was a statement, not a question, but you shake your head to confirm it nonetheless. He sighs with a frown.  _ He may not remember me, but at least he remembers something, right? _

It’s that moment when the door opens. You both flinch, straightening your backs and face the door as the man you wished was dead saunters in. Your hands tighten to fists and your lips curl back in pure hate.  _ Not this bastard again. _

“It’s nice to have you back,” Werner Reinhardt says to you, a smile on wretched his face.


	18. Chapter 18

“Солдат!” _(Sol-dat!) Soldier!_ A voice shouts. A strong, firm metal hand rests on your shoulder before ripping you clean off of Reinhardt. Briefly, you see the man slump against the wall, a hand going up to his burnt throat as he chokes in a breath. You don’t remember even crossing the room, let alone burning his throat. Hate fuels you, though, so you lunge forward to finish the man in question off.

You’re thrown backwards, landing hard on your back. The vibranium absorbs the worst of the impact. Quick as lightning, you’re back on your feet. _Winter._ His face is blank as he stares you down, blocking your path to Reinhardt. Your eyes sharpen as you focus on him. He stands with his hands by his sides, his head tilted down slightly as he observes you with a cautious calculation in his eyes. It’s almost like he’s _daring_ you to try and get past him. You don’t want to fight him, but your desire to kill Reinhardt is stronger. _If I have to fight you, so be it._

You switch on your enhanced senses and in an instant, everything becomes heightened. You hear choking sounds behind Winter. Words are muttered accompanied by shuffling sounds as Reinhardt is being led towards the door. _Not on my watch, you bastard._

Rapidly, you analyse the way Winter is standing and calculate his potential moves just milliseconds before you move yourself. He steps forward as you do, his right arm raising up to deflect your dummy punch. Instead of going in for a punch as he expects you to though, at the last second you tilt your right arm and grasp his right wrist. Lifting it up and continuing to pull it in the direction he’s heading, you smoothly slide past him and stand by his right shoulder. Jumping up, you wrap your left arm over his left shoulder and around his throat as you yank his right arm down. Winter starts to overbalance to the right and you force him to spin to face the opposite direction as you turn. As he swings around, you suddenly stop and kick his legs out from underneath him. He tilts onto his heels with the momentum and you push down on his shoulder as you pull the wrist you’re still holding up into the air. He lands flat on his back.

With haste, you step over his arm and roll, trapping his shoulder between your thighs. Winter grunts in pain as he is forcibly dragged into a roll with you. His face slams to the floor and you raise your arm and hit his cervical vertebrae at the tip of his spine with your elbow, a move he taught you long ago. He gives a quiet gasp in pain as you untangle yourself from him and roll straight into a sprint. Reinhardt is close to the door now and you see a HYDRA agent opening it. Two of the agents move to rush him out of the room the last few metres whilst three agents stop before you. You reach the first before they can pull their weapon out. Within a blink, he’s rolling on the floor, clutching his shattered forearm. The next agent is just pulling their gun out and pointing it at you as you reach her. Your hand flares with heat and you clutch the barrel as the gun as she pulls the trigger. You force scalding heat down the gun, creating a spark. The gun explodes in her hands, burning them awfully. Her cry of agony cuts out as you grab her throat with a glowing hand and toss her in the direction on the third agent, who is just pulling his the trigger on his gun.

Agent two slams into agent three, and they become a pile on the floor. As this happens, you twist sharply to dodge the bullet, but it just manages to skim over the side of your bicep, splitting the skin as it shoots past. It stings, but you can feel heat flowing towards the wound, healing it swiftly.

Reinhardt is by the door by now and you’re only seconds away from him, fire building up at your fingertips, when something slams into your back, knocking you forward. You fall flat on the floor as Winter pins you down. _No!_ You shout silently. You claw at the floor desperately and your arms are grasped and help firmly. You struggle beneath Winter as you watch Reinhardt leave the room. _No!_ The door slams shut and the mechanism locks. Searing anger tears through you as you struggle in Winter’s grip. You can hear him hiss as you struggle.

“Стоп,” _Stop,_ he says. You try to thrash around in an attempt to knock Winter off of you but you can’t. “Остановись!” _(Osto-nav-eece!) Stop moving!_ You start to panic, your nostrils flaring as you breathing becomes fast and harsh. Winter picks up on it almost immediately. “Breathe with me,” he mumbles, leaning over to say it near your ear. You can feel his cool breath tickle your ear and get a sense at the speed he’s breathing at. Slowly, you start to calm down. He releases your hands and gets off of you. You stay there for a few moments, panting, feeling drained. Eventually, you push yourself up with your hands and stagger to stand. Winter’s eyes meet yours, a mixture of pain and confusion. You want to apologise for having to fight him earlier, but there’s no way for you to say the words.

Momentarily, you contemplate mouthing the words in apology, but with your enhanced senses still on, you’re hyper-aware of the sound of something dripping to the floor. Your eyes shoot down to the floor in the direction of the sound. _Blood._ There are a few droplets of blood on the floor by Winter’s boots and you look to where it might have come from. Your eyes widen.

_Winter’s hand._

Your eyes snap to his in horror, your lips twisting to mumble how sorry you are but no sound comes out. _“I am so, so sorry.”_ Winter’s eyes watch your mouth, a crease forming between his brows as he lip reads. _“I’m so sorry I hurt you, I didn’t mean to-”_

“It will heal,” he says gently, a firm reassurance in his tone. He raises his right hand and looks at it himself. _At least I didn't damage the metal on his left hand._ He almost winces as he moves his fingers. You don't even bother to suppress your wince in turn as he does so. _Christ, that must be a two, maybe three-degree burn._ You feel sick. He looks up at your pained face with a strange tenderness. “I’ve had worse.”

_I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or even more awful._

A groan and some shuffling sounds out behind you. You look briefly over your shoulder to see the injured HYDRA agents scurrying around together, glancing at you fearfully as they rush to the door. The door unlocks and they get out as fast as they can, shutting the door behind them as they leave. The door locks. _Looks like it’s just me and you, Winter._ You turn back to him and look at his hand, feeling like a monster. Never would you have dreamed of hurting Winter, and you’re absolutely heartbroken that you did.

Feeling sick, you approach Winter and touch his shoulder gently. He looks up from examining his hand. You jerk your head, telling him to follow. He looks a little puzzled, but he follows you as you walk in the direction of the sink in the corner. _If I remember correctly, the water over here is ice cold._ You reach the tap and turn it on, feeling a freezing stream of water hit your skin. _Perfect._ You leave the tap running and step back, gesturing with your hands that Winter should put his hand under the water. He glances at you briefly before doing so. He hisses and you’re unsure if it’s in pain or relief.

You watch as the pools of blood flow off of his hand and drain away. His skin is _so_ disturbingly red and sore to look at. You glance away, feeling queasy. _Come on, pull yourself together. You have to look at the extent of the damage so that you can patch him up._ You close your eyes for a few seconds. _Come on._ You swallow down the mixture of nausea and guilt and turn your gaze back to his hand. The worst of the burns are on his palms and fingers, however, some of the burn curls around over the back of his hand too. As you analyse the damage on his hand, you think about what to do and an image flashes through your mind. It’s strange, almost like you’re looking down on yourself as you watch the _(vision? Memory?)_ play out.

_“I’m sorry! It was an accident, I didn’t mean for th-”_

_“Knock it off! You shouldn’t play with fire!” The boy kicks at the path, upset that he disappointed you. “Are you listening to me?” You say the words gently, but forcibly. “You coulda been done for!” You sigh, kneeling down to tend to the burns on his hands._

_“I said I was sorry…” You look at the boy, observing his watery eyes that are filled with pain. You rummage through your bag and pull out a small bottle of water. You’ve learnt to always be prepared. Working in the military you have to be._

_“Give me your hands.” He stretches them out and you unscrew the cap off of the bottle and gently pour the water over the blistering burns. The boy winces as you do so and your heart clenches painfully. “You’re lucky I have a first aid kit in my bag.”_

_“You always have a first aid kit in your bag,” the boy says playfully, trying to ease the tension. You shake your head fondly, smiling softly at him. You pull out said first aid kit. Gently, you apply some salve to the burns and wrap them up with a padded gauze. You tie the bandage on and lean forward, placing a kiss on the boy’s temple._

_“Please be careful-”_

“Are you alright?" You flinch as Winter’s voice breaks through your thoughts. Winter grunts. "You look a little distant.” You spend a few seconds blinking to clear your head, then you look at Winter apologetically. You nod in confirmation that you’re okay. His eyes flick between yours, double checking that you are. He doesn’t seem convinced, but he relents.

_It’s not like I can explain myself anyway._

You step closer to him, gently nudging his hip. He looks at you, puzzled, until you indicate the cabinet under the sink. He shuffles a little out of the way and you open it up. You rummage until you find a first aid kit. Shutting the cabinet, you move to the side. Balancing the kit on the edge of the sink, you forage through it until you find some cream, a pad and a gauze. Before you shut the kit, you notice a small piece of paper with instructions on and a small pencil. Delighted, you pull both items out, then shut the kit.

You write on a space that’s clear on the sheet. _“How is your hand? How badly does it hurt?”_ You flash him the paper and he spots your words. He clears his throat.

“It’s painful in a few places. Parts of my palm I can’t really feel.” Your mouth twitches. _Nerve damage, then._ His eyes meet yours. “I _am_ okay, though. This will heal.” Something about the way he says the words makes you believe him.

You scribble onto the paper, _“I’m still bandaging it though.”_ He huffs and it sounds more amused than anything. You stretch out a hand and turn the faucet, the water shutting off. You unroll a little of the bandage as Winter stretches his hand out. Ever so carefully, you dab away the droplets of water. Then, you unscrew the cap on the burn cream and lightly apply it to the burns. You do your best to focus on the task, rather than the fact that this is  _Winter’s_ hand that you’re tending to.

It’s not like you haven’t had to patch Winter up before. The memories are hazy, but you do recall having to tend to a variety of his injuries before. _So many of his injuries have been so much worse than these burns. This time it’s different, though. Because this time it’s_ _my fault that he’s injured._

Once you’ve finished applying the cream, you pick up the large padding and place it onto his right palm. Tenderly, you bandage his hand up.

“Thank you,” he says quietly once you’ve finished. Guilt combined with self-resentment clenches in your chest. _Please don’t thank me, it’s my fault that you’re injured._

* * *

When some guards muster up the courage to open the door to the training room, you’re ordered to kneel down and place your arms at the back of your head. Winter is stood directly behind you, poised to grab you should you choose to make any sudden movements.

You’re not sure what exactly made you snap earlier. _I don’t remember moving across the room to attack anyone._ All you know is that you were _enraged_ and were overcome with the desire to burn Reinhardt to ashes. You frown as your hands are yanked down to be cuffed and chained behind you. _Maybe it’s the Extremis serum. I know my temper is a little harder to control now. I need to work on that._

You’re yanked forward and you stumble to your feet as you’re lead out. Absently, you register Winter being ordered to follow.

You’re taken to a familiar laboratory where… _What’s his name? That doctor,_ used to upgrade the device on your head. You suppress a shiver as you remember the pain you once felt in this very room. You’re uncuffed and told to take a seat. As you do so, clamps are placed over your wrist and biceps, securing you in place. _Zola. His name was Dr Zola._  Winter is ordered to take a seat whilst his burnt hand is treated. One of the agents tells him to remain there unless you attempt an escape. Apparently, he’s all of the scientists’ bodyguards.

You sit there, fully conscious, as your head is shoved forward and held down. You feel the uncomfortable tickling sensation that indicates that the back of your head is being opened up for an upgrade. You screw your eyes shut, careful not to flinch whenever you feel sudden intense pains flashing through your head.

You try to crush the urge to lash out at the scientists as you feel a live electrical current _in_ your head. It’s only in the device, but you can _feel_ it. It puts you completely on edge. _I’m restrained anyway, so it’s not like I_ can _lash out. But God, I just want to attack these people just to make them_ _stop_ _._

It’s agonising. At one point you almost pass out. Maybe it’s days, maybe it’s just hours, it's possibly even minutes, but eventually the scientists are finished. You’re freed from the clamps around your arms. You rub them absently as you’re told to stand and head over to the computers. A scientist points to the computer on the left. Cautiously, you move over to it. You stiffen as you feel someone fiddle with your head and you feel something _pulled out_ of your head. You hold back the need to squirm in discomfort. A jet black wire is held in front of you and you reach out to hold it. There’s a small cube-like shape at the end of the wire. Puzzled, you look at the scientist.

All the man does is point to a tiny silver button on top of the cube and gesture to a USB port on the computer, before taking a step back. A frown creases between your brows as you gently press the button and step forward, holding the cubed end of the wire at the USB port.

In fascination, you watch the cube stretch out and connect to the port, shifting its shape in order to fit into the port correctly. As it plugs itself into the computer, you immediately stumble forward to lean on the desk for support. _Ah! God!_ So much information flies through your head at speeds you cannot fathom to comprehend.

What’s the feeling like, I hear you ask? It feels like the world's worst brain freeze combined with a thousand million volts bursting through your head, all within milliseconds.

When the feeling stops, your eyes catch the timer that’s running on the computer in the corner. It stops when the pain fades away. _Seven minutes forty-two seconds._ The scientist pulls the USB out and it retracts into a cube once again. Completely in a daze, not able to comprehend what the hell is going on in your head right now, you stumble when the scientist pushes you to a computer on the right. He holds the cube in front of you and quickly presses it twice. He hands it back to you and gestures to the USB port. Confused still, you place the cube to the USB and watch it shift again. It connects and this time you feel like something is being drained in your head. It makes you feel dizzy and a tiny bit sick, but it’s over in roughly five minutes. The USB is removed and something is pressed at the back of your head. The wire retracts back into your head and you feel a small part of the device shut closed.

“Хорошо.” _(Herr-rash-on.) Good._ You blink, perplexed until the scientist explains in a clipped Russian tone.

“We’ve finished the upgrade on your head. You’re able to download and transfer information from one device to another.” He gestures to from one computer to the other. “This will be handy on missions where you need to gather intel. We will be doing a few more upgrades in recent weeks to make the process more efficient.”

Briefly, you touch your forehead. Your fingertips brush it gently and you wince. At the crown of your skull and on your forehead, there is a building pressure. It feels as though someone has their hand pressed firmly against your head.

“Soon, with the aid of this upgrade, we hope to give you the ability to access other technology and search through files on devices with just your thought. We're only drawing the schematics at this point in time. However, we will be basing this technology off of a DNI, or a Direct Neural Interface.” At the bewildered look in your eyes, he chuckles. “A DNI; it’s a mind machine, so to speak.” You squint. _The hell is he on about?_   He explains succinctly. “A DNI reads electrochemical signals in the human neural system,” he makes gestures with his hands. “Using a DNI, one can read and interpret these signals within the human body, enabling us to see your brain activity, and information passing through you.” The man’s eyes glisten. “It’s really quite fascinating.”

The man pauses for a few moments, eyes observing you in deep thought. He clears his throat. “We plan to create a DNI, except… We plan to enable you to use it to read and interpret electrical data instead of neurological data.” He gestures to the computers. “You will be able to ‘hack’ computers, so to speak. Rather than plugging yourself in to take the data.”

The man finishes his speech and nods to someone out of view. A command is barked at you. You obey, walking over to the door and stretching out your wrists. Cold metal cuffs are placed around your wrists, a chain hooked onto them. Winter is told to follow.

For the first time, you’re lead to a part of the facility that you’re unfamiliar with. Unease curls in your stomach, but you force it down. Winter is behind you, his presence a constant reassurance. _Even though he’s only here to take me down if I go crazy, but still._

The agents stop to open a door to the left and you’re led inside. Reinhardt is sat on the edge of a metal table, his eyes scrutinising you as you enter. Immediately, your eyes zero in on the bloodied bandages around his neck. You suppress a wince. _Ouch, that must hurt._

A raspy voice sounds out, unmistakably Reinhardt's.

“Bring up the footage from 1989, my experiments from Austria.” A woman to the side of the room that you didn’t notice moves and clicks something on the computer. A huge screen on the wall lights up. You blink furiously until your eyes adjust.

Gentle, but pleading, the voice of a Chinese woman says, “否。請，不要。不要這樣做。” _(Fou. Sh-ing, bo-yao. Bo-yao chi-yang-zo.) No. Please do not. Do not do this._

“Discovery requires experimentation…” You watch as the woman is forced to touch the Obelisk. _So she's like me. She can touch it._  You frown, recognising some the features of her face as you look at her. “Remarkable," Reinhardt remarks, "but what makes you so special?” You feel sick at those words as you remember them once being directed at you. “I think it is wise we prepare her for surgery, we must examine exactly what makes her tick.”

Feeling sick, you stand stock still as you see various video recordings of her being experimented on. _There’s something familiar about her. And I don’t know if that makes me feel worse or not._ You swallow thickly. _I wouldn’t want anyone to go through this, let alone someone I know._ She’s strapped to a table, completely naked save for the white sheets covering up her modesty.

You tear your eyes away as Reinhardt starts dissecting her. She cries out in pain. Your eyes screw shut. Briefly, you pick up a subtle hitch in Winter's breath as he watches. _I forgot he was here._  A firm, rough hand grasps your chin, yanking your head up. Your eyes open to see Reinhardt.

“Watch,” he hisses, turning your head back to the screen.

It’s horrifying. He cuts the poor, poor woman to pieces, placing her organs in jars so he can view them at his pleasure later. The bastard does everything he can to ensure that the lady remains alive for as long as possible. As the video clips change, you see Reinhardt examining the organs, effectively reverse engineering her DNA. Eventually, the woman dies and you’re relieved when she does. _No one deserves this. No one would ever, ever deserve this._

When Reinhardt extracts all of the information he possibly can from her, he orders some agents to dispose of the body. He transplants all of the woman's organs and blood into his body.

You’re absolutely furious. _The lack of respect this man has is shockingly unbelievable._ Your nose twitches with hate as you watch the clip switch to a video feed where Reinhardt is back to his younger self. _And even that’s a complete understatement by several miles._

A cold, sudden realisation dawns upon you then. Your entire body slowly goes cold, as if you're going back into cryostasis. Your eyes go watery and you try and blink the blurriness away. _I’ve done so many bad things; killed so many people with my hands, tortured others for information, but I would_ _never, never_ _in a thousand years do that to somebody. I don't care if it's done purely for scientific research. Nobody deserves that._

The man stood next to you, Werner Reinhardt, is no man.

The man stood next to you, he’s… he’s a _monster._

Rapidly, you become petrified by being in his very presence.  _I had no idea what he was capable of._ Eyes fearfully wide, you observe his. _And now I'm his centre of attention._  A disgustingly nasty grin forms on his face, absolutely mortifying you. _I don’t want to know what that smile means._

“When I find out what makes you _tick,_ ” he rasps, “I will take you apart, piece by piece and will not stop until I find out all I wish to know.” He licks his lips. “And _that,_ my pet, is a promise.”


End file.
